


Captive Audience

by Magentasouth



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-09-17 05:33:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 147,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9307601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magentasouth/pseuds/Magentasouth
Summary: Hermione is captured by Death Eaters before the trio can leave on the Horcrux hunt Death





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Your review will increase my update frequency. I have dozens of chapters waiting in this and other stories, but limited time to update in. Stories with comments will get priority with updating.

He never looked at her. That was the worst thing. 

It shouldn’t be the worst thing but there it was. 

Hermione leaned idly against the silver filigreed bars of her cage and watched disinterestedly while some minor death eater screamed and twitched on the stone floor of the great hall as Voldemort punished him.   
When she had first seen this kind of display she had been horrified and felt almost overwhelming sympathy for the victim, but it happened too frequently to still affect her strongly.

She had been daydreaming and hadn’t really been listening as the quivering boy had confessed his fault. Something about dropping something, he’d broken something obviously.   
It likely wouldn’t have mattered if he hadn’t. He was the third person who had been cursed by Voldemort this morning.   
He was in a fairly intolerant mood today it seemed. 

This too was not a rare occurrence. 

Her generously sized cage was set off to the side of the raised dais on which Voldemort lounged in his massive, ornately carved black stone and silver inlaid throne, effortlessly holding the curse on the whimpering boy with a mien of faint irritated satisfaction. 

The cage was raised on silver lion’s feet off the floor a small way. A kind of symbolic pedestal emphasizing that she was on display: a trophy.   
She was... she supposed... a visual aid, perhaps. Nothing more. A symbol. 

Daily, elves charmed her body clean and clothed her in luxurious gowns; red velvet, gold satin, occasionally pale pink gauzy sheaths. Clothing to emphasise that she was a Gryffindor princess, that she was female, that she was soft and vulnerable, that she was so very different to the figures in black that came and went in this room – the only room she had seen in the months since her capture. 

She wasn’t bothered by the often somewhat revealing clothing.   
Today, for example she was wearing a rather low cut strapless empire waist dress in blood red raw silk that reached to her mid thighs.   
At least she was not naked or dressed in rags.   
At least it was, for whatever irrational reason Voldemort had, her house affiliation and not her blood status that seemed to be the focus. 

Sometimes she fantasized about being able to take a shower...or washing her hair with real shampoo. The elves cleaned it, charmed it to a glossy porcelain doll finish, but it smelled of nothing. It felt soft and silky but she couldn’t shake the feeling of not having washed her hair in months.   
She wondered if she would be in the cage for the rest of her life. 

She knew Harry was still out there. Voldemort couldn’t find him or Ron. They had vanished from the wizarding world apparently. There had been no reports of sightings for weeks and weeks. 

Initially she had listened to all Voldemort's briefings with baited breath, strained her ears to hear anything that might be useful, imagining she might be rescued somehow and could relay her information to the order. 

After months of that, of memorizing every detail she could, she began to slowly suspect that she wouldn’t be rescued after all. She still paid attention to the reports delivered to Voldemort before her, to reassure herself that Harry and Ron and the order members she knew about were still out there, still eluding capture, surviving attack after attack since the fall of the Ministry of Magic.   
Those briefings were the minority, however. Most interactions she was witness to were more mundane and often quite horrible. Raids, various manipulations of individuals, finances, information about things she lacked the context to understand. 

Professor Snape was here frequently. The first time he had come in and had recognised her in the cage he had appeared momentarily startled, before he trained his face into the same faintly disapproving sneer he had habitually worn in class and delivered a briefing to Voldemort on some potion he was working on.   
Thereafter he seemed to pretend she wasn’t even there. He did not look over at her and if he happened to be facing in her direction for whatever reason, his eyes stared past her unseeingly.   
It was almost as bad as Voldemort’s cold disinterest. 

She felt she was a painting on the wall sometimes. Nobody ever spoke to her.   
Most of the death eaters who came in, with the exception of professor Snape and Lucius Malfoy, leered at her in a vaguely threatening way when they did happen to look at her.   
Bellatrix black had once stepped right up to the bars of her cage and crouched down, excitement glittering rabidly in her eyes. 

Voldemort had chastised her mildly in a bored voice, “leave it alone Bella and return to your place."   
IT.   
Bellatrix had scowled through the gaps at Hermione and then brightened, wiggling her little finger at her as if she was a kitten in a box and returning to the lower level of the great hall. 

She never left the cage. It had become the entire world. A couple of metres cubed. She had learned to sleep on the hard metal floor, no pillows or blankets, even when it was very cold.

Food appeared periodically – simple fare, usually stew or rice but sometimes there was meat, once or twice she had been given fruit.   
The rather primitive food appeared in a bone china service with golden spoon. There was never any need for a knife. There would be a pitcher of water and a ridiculously ornate golden goblet that would have been at home among the crown jewels. She had quickly learned to eat and drink as soon as the offerings materialized irrespective what else might be going on in the room, because they would vanish in a short time, a matter of minutes to perhaps an hour at best – and if she had not had her fill by then, she would have to wait for the next opportunity. 

These opportunities were not regular or predictable. Once she had had to wait for two days and the thirst had been terrible. 

She sometimes considered whether she might simply stop eating and drinking. One died of dehydration in a matter of days. But she found she did not want to die.   
Besides... if she didn’t eat, possibly the elves might just make the food appear directly in her stomach. She didn’t think it that unlikely a prospect. She hadn’t been to the bathroom in months now. Sometimes she felt the need... and then she didn’t. Presumably the waste went somewhere. She supposed it was just easier that way. Then he could keep her in her little prison on display perpetually without risking her ruining her porcelain doll appearance. 

Since arriving, aside from the obvious distressing factor that she was Voldemort’s prisoner, nothing had actually happened to her. No one had tortured her – in fact no one had so much as threatened her. Voldemort hadn’t even spoken to her.  
Not once!   
She had gone from skimming through a book in Flourish and Blott's to waking on the floor of the cage with him looking down at her through the delicate curls and twills of the bars.   
He hadn’t said anything, and she hadn’t had the courage to shout insults or challenges of a Gryffindor flavour up at him. He simply looked at her with interest, as if she were an unusual species of beetle that he was trying to catalogue under a microscope. She had looked back for a while, apprehensively. His eyes were unnatural and unnerving. They glittered red and were bisected by black-slitted pupils like a snake. 

The...hairless flatness... of his face... those slitted nostrils... he was something so alien that it actually offended the mind, it hurt to look upon him. She lowered her eyes and shivered.   
When she next chanced a glance up some minutes later she was relieved to see he had gone.

At first, she had expected he would interrogate her. She had heard stories of the bodies the death eaters left to be found and she had just automatically assumed that she would soon be interrogated, tortured, perhaps executed - and was terrified every time he entered the room; death eaters did not enter the room when he was not in it, it seemed.   
Over time it became more and more apparent that he was not in fact going to interrogate her at all. It was almost insulting: as if she couldn’t possibly know anything that would be of any interest to him. 

She watched him almost constantly when he was in here. 

She wasn’t afraid to look at him anymore - over time she had gotten used to his strange appearance and it wasn’t as if he ever noticed her looking at him anyway. He never even glanced in her direction. 

It was understandable to watch him, she told herself, as there was hardly anything else for her to look at.   
When he wasn’t in here, the room was shadowy, empty, silent. She had nothing to do with herself in the cage.   
She had nothing to do with her mind. No books, no tasks,   
nothing to do but lie around and daydream, reminisce on the time at Hogwarts, the time with her friends, with Harry, or think about the things that she had read about in the past, calculate arithmancy problems in her head...or think about him. 

He was like a puzzle, of sorts.   
What did he want from her? Was this all he required? That she sit here like some kind of doll on a shelf. What would happen over time? She was seventeen! Would she still be sitting around in a cage in pretty dresses when she was thirty? 

She shivered... that was a ridiculous thought. For one, Harry would kill him long before then. Harry would win, she was sure. It was a matter of time. He would come and kill Voldemort and she would be released and then... 

Her mind faltered at that point each time she fantasized about it. Even in her fantasy her logic would step in and say ‘and then Ginny would run to him and he would embrace her joyfully and kiss her and everyone would celebrate.’ 

Unfortunately, there was no way to fool herself into the happy daydream that Harry would release her from the cage after Voldemort had fallen and would suddenly look deep into her eyes and tell her that he loved her. That he had realised after she had been taken that it had been her he had wanted all along, not Ginny.   
There was never any way to elude her own derisive internal snort of disbelief when she imagined wistfully how Harry would pull her close and slowly and tenderly kiss her.   
She wished it were possible... But Harry never even saw her. She was firmly relegated to the friend category for him, perhaps he even thought of her as a sister.

It was tragic. 

For a while she had thought...perhaps she could get him to notice her if she changed her appearance... if she tried to look more like a girl – or at least more like lavender and parvati. He had noticed, in a mild kind of way and had even complimented her once or twice politely, jokingly, as a friend...as a brother might, but that was all. 

Ron, on the other hand, had suddenly become shy and fumbling around her, had started doing things like pouring her pumpkin juice and sitting and staring at her moon eyed while she studied. It was terrible. 

She didn’t know what to say to put him off without hurting his feelings so she just pretended not to notice.   
She could never care for Ron that way; he really was just a friend. She liked him as a friend. He was just... not her type somehow. He was brash and loud and frequently uncouth, he was loyal and funny, she added quickly, but he was just.....

it seemed cruel to say that he was just...a little silly...a little foolish. Not that bright. He wasn’t stupid – his skill in chess and even in quiddich proved that – but he was just... not that quick on the uptake in his regular dealings with others it seemed.   
Harry on the other hand was very sharp when it came to others.   
True, he could be a bit biased by his opinions of people and misunderstand things, but he was very observant, quiet, thoughtful, considerate, courageous, dashing, gorgeous... she trailed off.. 

She liked the way he looked...   
She really was that shallow. 

She couldn’t help judging herself critically for it. His black hair and those bright green eyes... He was beautiful. She liked the way he smelled too, especially when he came back from quiddich. It... it made her feel strange. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach when he would flop down next to her on the couch in the common room in his uniform and would lean on her, his head on her shoulder and smell so...good.. She would fight the urge to turn to him and confess her undying lust for him.   
He was so damn noble and true, there was no way he would ever risk ruining their friendship for a little fooling around.

Even if he had been at all interested in her, and he gave her no reason to even hope that he might be, there was Ginny standing there looking at him adoringly... and there was Ron standing there looking at her adoringly.   
Always. 

She didn’t want to think it but a part of her cursed the entire bloody Weasley family. They were a pain in the neck. But it was ok. That was life. You couldn’t always have the one you wanted. She would feel happy for Harry when he was free from this whole war and could marry Ginny and have a family. She would. It was what he most wanted. 

She would wish him well and would apply herself to her further studies after she had re-sat the NEWTS and at some point she would meet someone else who could give her that butterflies feeling that Harry gave her.   
She sighed. She would force herself to be happy for Harry... and if she distanced herself a bit from the joyous couple simply because she couldn’t stand to look at him so deliriously happy in his life with Ginny, that was perfectly understandable and nothing to feel bad about.

 

She heard the door in the stone wall at the end of the room close. The young death eater had departed while her attention was elsewhere yet again. 

Voldemort sprawled regally in his throne, his expression one of distraction, pensive thought and now only faint irritation. 

She mused on her impression of him, as she not infrequently did when he was present for her to observe.   
Voldemort had a manner about him that was almost like Professor Snape...although he didn’t resemble him in any respect whatsoever. 

It was hard to explain. 

There was a dignity to his person. He commanded respect. Automatically. One could not but react to his presence with trepidation and awe.   
But while professor Snape was stiff, polished, harsh, like stone – Voldemort flowed.   
He was elegant and sinuform like dark liquid. He moved as if not restricted by the standard laws of physics. It was quite fascinating to watch. 

His voice too, when he spoke to his death eaters, was interesting, layered. It was quite high and airy, like a woodwind instrument, with unusual harmonics suggesting that it, at least in part, did not reach the senses by means of the rarification and compression of the intervening air currents. It was as if it resonated in the mind.   
She found over time... that she quite liked the sensation. 

Of course that was probably due, in large measure, to the illusion that had condensed over the last month that she was not really there. 

She was some kind of observer outside the events around her. As such nothing bad could ever happen to her. It was like a continual ongoing theatre piece she was watching these days. And among the many themes in this piece, one was the fascination with Voldemort’s voice.   
Once in a while, like this morning (afternoon? Evening?) She had a vague self destructive hankering to hear him address her in that voice. Specifically: for him to turn his attention on her – to notice her. 

Of course that was completely stupid, she told herself. As things were she could count her lucky stars that Voldemort did not appear to be interested in her in any way at all. It meant that she could continue her life unharmed and while away the days without being asked to betray her friends, free from pain or... or... molestation. 

 

An unexpected click from very close nearby startled her. 

She watched, not quite comprehending, as a section of the side of her cage swung open silently. There was an unfathomable hole in her world!   
She had grown used to viewing everything through the filigree filter, to the extent that she almost didn’t even see it anymore. Now there was this...area... of space that seemed too full... too bright. As if it weren’t really real. 

Voldemort spoke now. “Come here” he said softly, dangerously. 

In her experience, people were usually cursed soon after he used this voice and she scanned the room, looking for whoever had come in that he was addressing. The room was empty.   
She looked back at the gap in her world. Could he be talking to her?! 

“Do not make me tell you again” he warned sharply. 

She jerked into life, pulling herself up the wall to stand and walking to the door of the cage, stepping down onto the stone of the dais. She paused, glancing around her uneasily. She felt...vulnerable... out here; exposed and raw. She wanted to go back inside the cage with its illusion of protection from Voldemort’s theatre of cruelty and obedience. If she was out here anything could happen to her.   
She forced herself to move, walking gingerly to the side of Voldemort’s throne and looking down at him.   
It felt... wrong... to look at him from this angle. He was always above her as she sat on the floor of the cage.   
He still hadn’t looked at her although she had the disturbing sense that his attention was fixed upon her.   
She swallowed anxiously. The terror she hadn’t felt in weeks, perhaps months, was rapidly building in her.

She hesitated and then lowered herself to her knees. 

After a few seconds he turned to her. There was a small degree of approval in his red eyes as they roved over her.   
She felt a tiny amount better from this position. On her knees looking up at him he looked more familiar, more like he did from inside the cage. 

His right hand lifted from the arm of his throne and reached toward her slowly. She forced herself with some difficulty not to flinch back away from it. His pale features twisted faintly and the slitted eyes narrowed. 

“You do not want me to touch you” he observed quietly. 

His hand reached her and his fingers combed slightly through her long silky perfectly coiffed ringlets. He wound a curl around his finger, tugging it out and letting it spring back. 

She was confused. What could she possibly respond to that? He was Lord Voldemort! Of course she didn’t want him to touch her. It went without saying. It was a conclusion automatically derivable from the fact that she was Hermione granger, best friend of Harry Potter, muggleborn, and he was Lord Voldemort the evil despot who was trying to kill him and rid the wizarding world of muggleborns. It was simply assumed. A given. 

“Give me your hand” he demanded mildly. 

She hesitated and then offered her right hand up to him. He took it immediately in his own, holding it as if he meant to kiss the back of her hand, and she was surprised to find his skin warm, soft, smooth but not unnaturally so.   
His appearance was such that she had somehow expected him to feel like ice... like cold marble; hard and silky. 

“You did not think me a man?” he murmured at her, amused. 

She tried not to blush and failed, looking down away from his ruby gaze.

“Are you afraid to speak to me, little Gryffindor?” he challenged.   
She looked back up at his eyes, which were cool, speculative, glinting slightly. “..Yes” she whispered honestly.   
His thin lips stretched wider, smirking at her. “That is perhaps wise” he responded.   
His thumb stroked lightly across her knuckles suddenly and she jerked as if slapped. 

The feeling... it was a very... affectionate... gesture. It was- it was... something she would have called flirtatious if anyone else had done it.   
She looked at him fearfully. Oh god... what if he wanted...   
His smile widened further and took on the appearance of something predatory. 

“Would you like a bath, Hermione?” He asked in a voice of polite inquiry entirely at odds with his expression. 

Immediately two factions launched into battle within her. There was the voice of reason which screamed at her in blind panic to refuse as politely as she possibly could and hoped to be able to go back to the cage soon where it felt a lot safer. Then there was the more impulsive voice of desire, desire to bathe, yes, but also desire for something other than the silvery patterned walls and the empty great hall and her thoughts and the silence.   
This – Voldemort talking to her, touching her even, as frightening as that was – this was something new.   
It was something other than the endless days of tedium.   
HE was paying attention to her. He hadn’t hurt her so far. This was better than the cage. 

Her under-stimulated senses cried out for more. It was glorious to be acknowledged as someone real, someone tangible again. She couldn’t just ignore the chance to have more... If she refused him and he allowed her to go back to the cage, he might never talk to her again. She would sit and slowly go mad by inches day by day until she either died of emptiness or Harry turned up to free her – if he ever did, and even then she would be alone... or she would be in Ron’s excited triumphant arms.   
She realised, surprised, that she was more interested in the sudden attention Lord Voldemort was currently bestowing upon her than she was in a caged future and an uncertain prospect of Ron Weasley’s arms eventually. 

She decided impulsively.   
“Yes please” she replied hopeful that he wasn’t merely taunting her. 

His expression became still more shark-like and his eyes glittered at her. He stood, gracefully and pulled her to her feet gently by her hand, drawing her closer.   
The different factions in her warred again as she hung on the cusp of panicking and stepping back, or acquiescing and stepping against his black cloaked body. She tried not to look afraid as she felt his hand guide her against him.   
He felt warm and solid. It was as unexpected as his hand had been.

She felt his arms curl around her, his hands splayed on her lower back as he pulled her more snugly against him and then there was the squeeze of side along apparition.


	2. Chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/reviews are very motivating. I have dozens of chapters to upload across these and several other stories. I have limited time to upload. Reviewing/commenting on a story gives it priority and i'll update it first.

She wavered dizzily and caught her breath. Side along apparition always made her feel queasy.

He released her somewhat and she looked around. She stood in a bathroom. It was very dark. It was well lit by a large number of thick white candles tossing soft flickering light, but it was still dark because almost every surface in the room seemed to be formed of black marble. 

A large bathtub grew out of the floor almost organically. It was one of the few areas that stood out because the inside surface of the marble of the wide deep concave shell was not solid black as the rest of the room but white veined black marble. There were neither taps nor spigot visible anywhere. 

She turned to look at Lord Voldemort uneasily, the reality of her current situation slowly catching up on her. He looked entirely fitting in this sombre elegant bathroom. He matched the colour scheme somehow, it made his snow white skin stand out even more dramatically and his red eyes glowed, the only point of colour in a monochrome world. 

She observed thoughtfully that his bone structure was quite delicate when you looked at him closely. 

He looked...strange...in the sense of being unusual... but he was quite interesting to look at. Statuesque. Like a Sumerian Idol or an Egyptian god. 

Hairless brows quirked momentarily as he smirked at her and she realised she had been thinking those things while gazing into his eyes. “Nehebkau – an Egyptian god of magic was said to have the face of a snake and the body of a man” he offered, with a mildly amused tone. She nodded slightly, knowing this already. 

“He had the power to join souls with bodies.” She murmured, unable to prevent herself from displaying her knowledge. 

Voldemort acknowledged the statement with a thoughtful expression before turning to the bath and taking out his wand. He cast silently so she had no idea what the charm had been but the bath now began to fill rapidly from the bottom upward. There were no thick bubbles, she was glad. She had always found bubble baths rather irritating – the texture of the bubbles on her skin was unpleasant and mounds of bubbles meant she would have to levitate the book she would invariably be reading further away from her face. 

She watched the steam rising from the dark clear water filling the tub, wavering the white veins in the marble and jumped, startled, when Lord Voldemort spoke, suddenly close to her ear “I have felt your eyes upon me, Hermione. Always you watch me.”

She turned quickly to look at him, a little frightened again. His slitted eyes flickered at her slightly, examining every nuance of her expression. 

“I...” she began uncertainly. What could she say? ‘Yes, you are the most interesting thing in the reduced world I inhabit?’ That might not go down well. 

“Your bath is ready” he said, before she could fumble some response. 

She turned and looked, as much to confirm the fact as to have a reason to look away from his piercing gaze. He was extremely unsettling... She had always had the disturbing feeling that professor Snape’s eyes could see into her when she looked at him. Lord Voldemort’s eyes were exponentially worse – in that she had the disconcerting feeling that he could see into her even if she didn’t look at him. When she looked into his eyes, she felt like her every thought and feeling was on display in letters ten metres high.

She stared at the steaming bath conflicted... she wanted to get in – oh she wanted so badly to get in now... she could almost feel the water against her skin. But Lord Voldemort didn’t appear to be leaving. Did he expect her to undress in front of him?! 

She had never had to undress in front of him before. The elves changed her and cleaned her, never undressing her for the merest second. She hadn’t been unclothed in months. The only male person who had ever seen her fully unclothed was her father and she had been a small child back then. She didn’t even wear a bikini in public. She couldn’t do this!! 

She looked at the water longingly as if it were a mere realistic painting of a bath. 

“You do not want a bath after all, Hermione?” Voldemort asked her knowingly. 

She looked at him desperately, pitifully. “Will you... um... won’t you... please... that is...” she petered out. There was just no way to politely eject Lord Voldemort from any room. It was not possible. Vain attempts would end in horrible pain, she just knew. 

She heard him laugh softly in genuine amusement. “You are so innocent, my dear. It is delightful”

All her hair stood on end then as she felt Lord Voldemort’s hand on the zip of her silky dress, lowering it slowly.   
She started to shake. What could she do? There was nothing she could possibly do! Even if she had a wand there would still be nothing she could do. Oh god!! Voldemort was undressing her!!!! There was nowhere to run. She couldn’t fight him. She was, and had been for months, entirely at his mercy. 

She whimpered softly and wrapped her arms around herself, trying not to cry. 

“Shhhhh” the high pitched voice soothed. “I have not hurt you, have I?” 

She kept her eyes fixed on the bath and tried to remain still. He hadn’t hurt her but she had watched him hurt others. So very many others. He did not restrict himself to the unforgiveables – she had seen him cast entrail-expelling curses, flaying curses and boiling curses, he once froze a man’s hand and then commanded him to snap off his own fingers. He made a young boy vomit sewing needles because he had not liked his tone of voice. 

The man in the room with her was a psychopath of almost limitless power and creativity. An interesting psychopath if one were some distance away, inside what felt like a shark cage, able to watch with impunity, but still a psychopath.   
And now he was undressing her and she wasn’t in the shark cage anymore. What he could do to her was not limited by the darkness of her imagination. He could do a lot worse to her than she was actually currently capable of imagining. 

The zip had reached its ultimate destination and she squeaked as she felt warm hands peel her dress away from her back. She wore no bra with this strapless dress. It was not necessary. Her small breasts were firm enough to stand without support. 

She felt Lord Voldemort’s hands smooth down her back slowly, drawing down the red silk dress. More than reluctantly she released it from where she had been clinging to it cramped beneath her folded arms. His hands moved lower, sliding over her hips and then the dress fell to pool around her bare feet. 

“...lovely” his voice observed as his hands glided still over her hips, playing at the waistband of her red silk panties.

She shook like a leaf and wrapped her arms around herself more tightly. 

Instead of removing her underwear she felt his hands slide up her sides till they reached her folded arms. His fingertips traced down her arms and she suddenly felt him step close behind her, the soft warmth of his robe touching her back.   
His hands reached her wrists and gripped lightly, pulling her arms slowly away from their folded position over her breasts and bringing them down to her sides. 

She ducked her head, flinching as he gently forced her to bare herself. “..Please...” she begged weakly. She wanted to say ‘don’t’ but one did not tell Lord Voldemort to do or not do things. She had never...ever... heard anyone tell him no. 

“Hush, Hermione” he said almost gently. “Calm yourself” 

His fingertips were gliding feather light back up the outside of her arms and now she thought she could feel his breath against her hair. He was right behind her... The fingertips that had now reached her shoulders started to dance down the front of her body slowly...so slowly... toward her breasts. 

She shook violently and her hands clenched and unclenched in desperation, too afraid to move to push him away. 

His fingertips glided now to the side and around the curve of her breasts, beneath them, circling her peaks. She felt her nipples harden in response uncontrollably and she burned bright red in shame. She wasn’t aroused by Lord Voldemort. She could never never find this evil man attractive.   
She couldn’t stop herself from shivering as his open palms brushed over her hardened peaks and she thought she heard his breath catch... One of his hands cupped her breast, kneading it slowly, tenderly, now and then pulling back to tease her nipple, while the other slipped up and brushed aside her hair from her neck. 

She felt Voldemort move even closer and then she really couldn’t stop herself from flinching when she felt his face move against her skin and his lips press gently to her neck, kissing her. She whimpered helplessly, feeling sick with fear. He ignored her terrified response completely and continued kissing her throat. His tongue slid over her delicate skin and then he sucked at a particularly sensitive spot and she shuddered in unwilling pleasure. 

She felt him smile against her skin and the hand that had been cupping and teasing her breast slid down her body in tandem with the other, his thumbs slipping beneath the waistband of her panties and sliding them slowly slowly down till they dropped unhindered down her legs to land with her dress. He had kissed up her throat now and his mouth was over her ear. His breath made her knees feel slightly weak. When he darted his hot pointed tongue out and licked at the shell of her ear she gasped and suddenly realised how fast she was breathing. Almost panting.

“Your bath is getting cold” he murmured into her ear and it felt.... it felt delicious. Forbidden and dark and shameful and intensely pleasurable. 

The sudden cold and bereft feeling she experienced when he then pulled away without warning and stepped back shocked her. She couldn’t possibly have wanted him to keep touching her. It was unthinkable. 

She snuck a peek back over her shoulder at him, looking quickly back at the bath. He was standing watching her, a look of dark satisfaction on his face. That could not bode well for her. The only time he ever looked pleased like that was when he had just finished cursing someone. 

She stepped forward and raised her leg, slipping it into the hot bath. 

Oh... it was still wonderfully warm. Idyllic... heavenly... it was amazing beyond words. She slipped her other leg in and let herself slide down into the dark depths.   
This was the best bath she had ever had... without a doubt. The warmth warmer, the water wetter, her body sang! 

She let herself sink down under the water completely, shaking her head and feeling the charms the elves laid on her hair to bind it into ringlets dissolve. She rose to the surface and brushed her hands back over her head, slicking her hair back. 

The faint innocuous sound of fabric hitting the floor was startling in its unobtrusiveness. 

She turned her head to see that Voldemort had removed his robes.   
He stood naked before her, his marble white body in unbelievably sharp relief against the uniformly black environment.   
His eyes flashed as he observed the way her gaze slid across his naked form. 

She couldn’t help herself... she literally could do nothing to prevent the way her eyes had developed a will of their own when she had turned and they had met his shining chest, stunned at the unexpected definition. Statuesque was exactly the word for him. He had the body of a swimmer, muscles standing crisp and tight, the rest of his frame lean and streamlined. 

Her gaze had wandered down his abdomen, stealing lower still to where... to where... she gulped.

Completely without pubic hair he was nevertheless very generously endowed as far as she could tell, although her knowledge was rather theoretical. His cock stood at half mast and it seemed it hardened further while she watched. Perhaps it was because she watched. 

She blinked, shocked and with some difficulty forced her eyes away; glancing at his face for a millisecond and then away again. He wore a small satisfied smile again, so thin and cruel it was like a little knife blade. 

She sank lower in the water, seeking to hide; heard him padding forward but did not look, did not want to provoke him any further. 

A pale athletic leg appeared in her view and lowered itself into the translucent water, standing out sharply against the black bathtub. Another soon followed and then Lord Voldemort was lowering himself gracefully into the other end of the large bathtub till he reclined comfortably curled against the curved black and white stone shell.   
He closed his eyes and sighed. 

She stared! 

The surreality of the moment was overwhelming. Having a nice relaxing bath with the Dark Lord, nothing unusual at all. 

She could feel his legs at either side of her own lightly. The tub was very wide and there was no feeling of crampedness. Her own legs reached to just above his knees. 

It was, she hesitantly acknowledged to herself, not entirely unpleasant to lie here. At this particular second at least she didn’t feel overtly threatened. Perhaps it was because his eyes were closed and he seemed more relaxed than he had ever appeared before. At that moment his eyes opened. Shiny red jewels scrutinized her silently. 

After a minute or so, he let them slip closed again. She watched as he let himself sink underwater completely.   
His entire body was visible under the glassy water as he lay peacefully submerged. 

The thought crept in at the corner of her mind that she could try to drown him. She didn’t know where it came from but it tickled at her faintly. All she would need to do would be to brace her arms over the edges of the tub and kneel on his chest and then fight like bloody hell to keep him down there.   
She considered the idea briefly and then as if casting a small fish back into the ocean, let it slip away again. Whether she could or could not successfully drown him was a moot point. She found, unaccountably, that she did not want to successfully drown him.

She sighed. How long could the man hold his breath? 

She wondered suddenly if he actually did swim a lot. He must have lay there like that several minutes at least now.   
She was just starting to worry faintly when Voldemort raised himself up again, till his head was above the water to just below his nose.   
He shone wetly.   
His garnet eyes penetrated her and he wore a very thoughtful expression again. 

After a time he rose higher out of the water and spoke. “Do you know, Hermione, there is not one single witch or wizard, not one of my death eaters, no ally one hundred times sworn and proven, who I would trust in my presence while as vulnerable as I have just made myself before you.”

Her eyes widened slightly. Did he just imply that he trusted her? Or was it that he viewed her as powerless and did not need to worry for that reason? 

Lord Voldemort extended a hand underwater. “Will you come to me? Will you show me a small fraction of that trust?” 

She looked back and forth between his entreating hand and his glinting eyes.   
It was a step too far. 

He watched her with seemingly infinite patience. Her inconveniently reasonable mind was automatically disputing his statement. Her trust would not be a small fraction of his. It would be exponentially greater.   
For one, he was not only physically stronger than her, he also probably mastered wandless magic, while her own wandless magic was extremely weak, not even enough for an alohamora.   
She was not foolish enough to believe Voldemort would ever put himself truly at risk.   
She did know however from Ginny’s experiences with the diary that he was extraordinarily good at manipulating people into doing what he wanted, although he was so powerful these days that he usually didn’t seem to bother with the velvet glove methods. 

He seemed to recognise the direction of her thoughts because a half second later he had launched himself smoothly through the deep water and was pressed against her, his thighs straddling her own and his hands pressing her wrists to the bottom of the bath.

His eyes were darker, half hooded as he looked down at her. 

“I could kill you, Hermione. I could drown you like a kitten. I could show you a pretty green light. You are correct - I don’t require a wand for that.   
..You exist because I have chosen to preserve your life. You continue to breathe at my pleasure.   
If I thought I might derive more amusement from your death than your life... I could transfigure your lungs into flesh eating spiders and watch them make their way through your body...I could boil your blood in your veins... I could imperio you into auto-cannibalistic frenzy. I could... “ 

He paused, looking down animatedly at her terrified face, her chin and bottom lip underwater, staring up at him in panic but too afraid to even try to struggle.   
His heavy cock rested on the seam of her tightly closed thighs and seemed to brush against her skin very slightly, like a living creature, in the residual current of his movement.   
Then he started dragging her slowly deeper in the water. 

Her panic escalated a hundred fold. He was going to drown her!!! For the hell of it! 

The water was just below her nose.   
She snatched a quick breath and then the water was over her nose, at her eyes.   
She blinked up at him, pleading.   
His face was implacable, unreadable, concentrated. 

The world blurred and she blinked rapidly as he dragged her to the bottom of the stone tub, his weight upon her. 

He glowed white against a black world. She couldn’t make out the surface of the water... the contrast was too low. All she could see was his white form kneeling over her looking down, slightly blurred, glowing against sheer darkness. 

She held her breath. She wouldn’t be able to hold it for long. 

He was looking down at her with a cold kind of interest, just like he had when she had first woken up in the cage. 

Seconds ticked past slowly and he didn’t seem to do anything else...just hold her in place and watch her lie there, holding her breath.   
It was...warm and pleasantly muted underwater. She could see how one might enjoy just lying here, completely covered in the warm blanket of the water... if it weren’t for that pesky breathing thing she needed to do.

Her lungs gave a spasm of protest. Soon she would not be able to hold on any longer. It was inevitable.   
She wondered whether it was a better death than an Avada. Drowning was supposed to be very peaceful after one stopped panicking and the lungs were full of water.   
At least that was what people rescued from near drowning reported. It was probably even nicer with warm water.   
Maybe she should take a nice deep breath and just escape this place. 

She didn’t want to die though. Always it kept coming back to that irritating little point of hope. She didn’t want to live in a cage but she preferred living in a cage to dying – it was why she had never simply stood up and started trying her hardest to poke the tiger. 

She needed to breathe now. Her lungs were burning. 

She let some of the air escape her lips. The bubbles burbled to the surface prettily and some of the pressure was relieved... but it was a short reprieve, she knew. The feeling of lungs full of carbon dioxide would not be as bad as the feeling of compressed lungs when she had breathed out all the bubbles she could and needed to breathe in again. 

She looked back up at the blurry glow of the red eyes.   
Lord Voldemort in the bath with her.   
Naked.   
Lord Voldemort drowning her in the bath.   
Nakednakednaked.   
Harry would not believe this even if someone told him. 

She needed to breathe in now. There were no more bubbles to breathe out. 

She blinked, trying to focus through the warm water. Voldemort had slipped below the surface. His face now hovered a few inches above her own. Did he want to see the expression on her face more closely when she died?   
She wondered incongruently what the world looked like to him. Did he see it the same way she did through those strange slitted pupils? Did he see like cats saw? Or snakes? 

Her lungs were on fire and now... she really was going to have to take a breath. Her body started to struggle quite against her will. It seemed that it wanted to reach the surface a lot more than her mind and her fear would allow. She tugged at hands that were immoveable as stone, clenching her eyes and straining against the overwhelming need to breathe in.

Then she felt lips against hers. Lord Voldemort was kissing her.   
Her mind screamed and the shock of it made her gasp, and then she could breathe! He deepened the kiss as soon as her lips parted, breathing into her, taking the air back from her as she panted it out again almost immediately. They shared breath back and forth while his tongue stroked and teased her own.   
She found herself responding. The relief and the pleasure together were intoxicating. 

She didn’t notice movement until she felt the cooler air slicking her hair against her head and the sides of her face. He had turned them underwater somehow and now she was lying on his chest, their heads and part of her back were out of the water.   
She inhaled cold air through her nose appreciating it as she had never done before.   
Why was she still kissing him?! She should stop now. 

As she tried to pull back she felt a hand on the back of her head, holding her in place. 

His lips were smooth, hot, firm and the kiss that went on and on was not brutal; it was not a devouring... it was anything but what she might reasonably expect. It was passionate but it was a soft lingering teasing kind of passion.   
As soon as she gave herself over to it, thrust her tongue in counterpoint into his mouth, pushed harder against him, he removed his hand and withdrew. 

She leaned in, trying to capture his lips again, wanting more and he smirked, holding her back, his hand on her collarbone – the gesture reminding her that a few inches higher and he could easily be gripping her throat in that pale hand. 

She became immediately quiescent.   
His eyes glinted approval as his hands slid down her back, over her ass, pulling her closer, pressing her against his hard length. She was afraid but she had already given herself up to her position. There was simply nothing she could do. She could deny him nothing. At best she could hope that he would continue to not hurt her.   
Even if he chose to hurt her... there would still be nothing she could do but beg. 

“Calm yourself” his breathy layered voice comforted. “I am going to take you. Later. After our bath I think.   
-It will hurt, naturally... but the pain will subside and then there will be pleasure.” 

She looked at the pale serpentine face in confusion. The feelings jostling for place inside her were so varied and contradictory that it actually hurt just beneath her ribs. 

“Why?! Why do you want me? Why...haven't you... No... What I mean is... What is this really about?”

The Dark Lord’s eyes flashed in irritation. He appeared to scrutinize her for a long minute that stretched on uncomfortably. Eventually he said, in a tone that she found quite believable, even reasonable. “A match between us would be, to a greater or lesser degree, mutually beneficial. You may be of some use to me, and it is clear to see how being in my favour will directly affect your quality of life.   
More than this, however – you are the closest intellectual match I might find in the wizarding world at present.” 

There was the veiled implication that this status could change in the future. 

“We share many interests. You have a thirst to learn, to develop your capabilities. Who could better understand your drives than I? Although I am aware you have been very effectively brainwashed by that old fool to fear the dark arts, even were you to remain ridiculously obstinate on that point indefinitely, there are still so many areas we might discuss...   
Have you not tired of simplifying your thoughts and expressions for the less cognitively blessed among your friends and associates? Have you ever longed to meet someone who would truly challenge you?   
There is so much I might show you, so much I have learned over the years that I have never shared; High magic that no other book, scroll or teacher can offer...” 

Hermione gulped.   
His words had struck a chord and she couldn’t quite dismiss the temptation that piqued suddenly at the thought of knowledge she could not attain elsewhere. 

“What do you really want from me?” she asked suspiciously. 

A brief greedy look flickered over the Dark Lord’s face and vanished under the mask of earnest reason. 

“I want only what you will eagerly give me: the pleasures of your body and of your mind.   
You try to convince yourself that you should refuse me, that it is wrong to want to live... to prefer stimulation over stagnation, to want to feel, to experience again...” 

She recognised immediately that he had not answered her question at all. Oh... it was an answer- the most basic answer, but she highly doubted that he wanted her for conversation...or even for physical release. Those were side effects of whatever he was truly after. 

The red eyes narrowed slightly and she felt his fingertips glide down her back again, his arms encircling her. “You are ...pleasing...to me, Hermione” he murmured. “You are not easily led by the nose, but are intelligent enough to submit yourself completely to my will. I find your physical appearance appealing and the flavour of your mind delightful   
\- I do not know how many dull briefings I have endured by observing them through your mind’s amusing running commentary. ...You are perhaps correct – there is a further ulterior motive to my affections.”   
She scrutinised the relaxed expression on the strange face inches away from her own. 

“...but you do not need to worry at present about that. I offer you my promise that this ulterior motive does not involve harm to you in any way. Quite the reverse... if you give yourself over to my care entirely...if you offer me your willing trust...I will protect you.” 

She considered the prospect. From all angles the answer remained the same – if she agreed then there was the possibility of a continuation of non harm.   
Whatever Lord Voldemort wanted would probably constitute a massive betrayal of everything she had ever stood for – but she might not be vomiting sewing needles in the immediate future – or drowning... or being eaten by spiders from the inside out. Possibly she might end up in Azkaban or dead eventually when Harry came. For the moment though the threat was infinitely greater if she should refuse whatever he seemed to want.   
And really... what was he asking – give herself over to his care entirely? It was hardly as if she had any power to determine her own fate here anyway. As he’d said – she continued to breathe at his pleasure. 

And...and...It hadn’t been...exactly...terrible...to...um... kiss him.   
Lying here in the warm water on top of the smooth body wasn’t actually the worst possible sensation in the world; definitely not as bad as sewing needles in the throat or spiders in her chest cavity. 

She felt him snort faintly beneath her and refocused her eyes upon the glittering red ones observing her – no doubt observing her internal thought processes too – with amusement. 

He wanted...trust... he’d said.   
She didn’t know whether she could even remotely give him that. Did she trust him? Not in the slightest. Not even faintly. At any second he might turn and flay her alive.   
She feared him. She accepted his power. Trust was something else entirely. 

A hand stroking down her back made her jump slightly. “Perhaps trust will come in time” he conceded softly. “Will you obey me in all things, irrespective your feelings toward my instructions?” 

She swallowed and admitted to herself that she would.   
She was afraid of what he might order her to do because she suspected she would probably do it if it didn’t involve directly harming anyone she cared for. 

The red orbs narrowed.   
“And what if I ordered you to kill Ronald Weasley?” he asked speculatively   
“or...Ginny Weasley?” 

She bit her lips in horror – trying to suppress the internal panic.   
“I... I don’t think I can kill anyone” she whispered. 

The pale face seemed to become thoughtful. “What about a death eater. If one of my servants were threatening Harry...could you kill him?” 

Her panic deepened. There was no way she was going to say that she might kill a death eater to save Harry. Not while lying here... not to this man.   
“I don’t know” she said. “I... would use a spell to stun or wound rather than kill I suppose.” 

Lord Voldemort did not appear to be bothered by this answer. She had expected at least a scornful expression and possibly a lot more, but he seemed...pleased... with her response. He raised his hand and stroked over her wet hair.   
It felt very strange to be petted in this manner. She hadn’t ever really dated. The only physical contact she really had with others was the occasional hug with Ron and Harry or with her parents. Physical affection of this type was an entirely new phenomenon – and the fact that it was this man very nearly boggled the mind. 

If someone had told her last year that she would find herself in a matter of months, lying in a bath being stroked by Lord Voldemort, she’d have laughed at them and given them directions to St Mungos. And yet... Here she seemed to be! 

“Kiss me.” The thin pale lips commanded quietly, derailing her train of thought. She flinched and they curved up into a faint smirk.   
Swallowing down her fear and closing her eyes she leaned down cautiously and brushed her lips over the smooth warm ones on the strange flat face. He responded subtly, encouraging her to continue.   
She felt his arms encircling her again and tried a bit harder; it wasn’t an area she had a lot of experience in. 

His tongue startled her when it flickered quickly against her top lip. 

Steeling herself she tried to deepen the kiss, parting her lips and doing the same thing back. When her tongue met up with the hot slick point of his she shivered slightly and then he was exploring her mouth. Probing and tasting and sliding the hot wet muscle against her own. 

He had tilted his head.

Even in the midst of everything she had enough mind left to find it odd. He had no nose. There was no need.   
She wondered whether it was simply a habit from when he had a nose.   
She wondered how many women he had been with.   
A great deal?   
Ginny had confessed that the tom riddle from the diary had been very handsome. 

He smiled against her mouth, through the kiss and she felt exposed again as he pulled back, nipping at her bottom lip gently as he retreated. “..Fewer than you might imagine perhaps.” He informed her, smirking “I had other priorities in my youth. As you have had other priorities. I have found that sexual entanglements can be problematic. Bellatrix is a case in point.” 

Hermione blinked, surprised.   
Not that Bellatrix Lestrange had apparently been involved with Lord Voldemort at some point – that was not difficult to believe at all from the way the witch carried on about him and looked at him.   
No – What was bizarre was that he was telling her this. Lord Voldemort had just confessed that he was not a ‘stud’ or a ‘player’ or... any of the other terms used to connote guys who had a lot of experience with girls. It was unexpected that this man would ever admit weakness or less than complete mastery in any area. 

The serpentine man snorted again softly, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“I did not intend to imply that I lacked experience...child. No... very soon now you will find that I have made a rather thorough study of the area... with and without magical enhancements. I have merely found it...inconvenient...to involve myself with witches... or wizards for that matter. There are better uses for my time.   
Apart from this – I do not share well. What I take is mine.. After I have had you – you will never again need to be concerned that any other might lay a finger upon you.” 

Hermione looked at the hard glint in the scarlet eyes and swallowed. She wondered suddenly how many of Lord Voldemort’s past lovers were still alive. 

The slow stroke down her spine with a fingertip and the tiny predatory twist of his thin lips gave her the feeling that it probably wasn’t many. 

He leaned forward and kissed her lightly, then pushed her away gently.   
She willingly retreated but was not allowed far. He rearranged her until she sat between his parted legs facing away from him. 

It turned out that looking at Lord Voldemort..even kissing Lord Voldemort.. was preferable to knowing he was there and not being able to see the expression on his face.

She spluttered and coughed as what seemed like a bucket of water was suddenly dropped on her head without warning, almost turning around angrily before she caught herself.   
Stupid. It’s just water. A mouthful of water versus the cruciatus.. hm.. let me think about it.. 

She blinked her eyes free of droplets and then there were hands on her head... A cool gel-like sensation and then massaging. 

He was washing her hair. 

Her mind kept producing exclamation points. 

Why was he doing this?! Why would he?!. It was absurd!!.   
...It felt really nice though. The sensation of it. The fingertips teasing at her scalp... moving in toe curling little circles at the back of her head... the top of her spine. She let her head roll back against them like a cat having its ears scratched. This had to be the most surreal moment of her life so far, she mused. 

His clever fingers were melting her mind as he moved down from her head to massage her neck and then shoulders. She felt like a mass of raw nerves all tingling in pleasure.   
Surely he had to be using some kind of spell. 

“No.” he murmured softly behind her. “Perhaps later... But no. You are merely very sensitive. Inexperienced. You are going to enjoy what I will show you tonight.”   
She wasn’t sure whether it was a prediction or an order but nodded bonelessly. 

“Down...” he urged her gently, pressing on her shoulders. 

She let herself slip down in the bath until she floated with her eyes closed, her face out of the water and her hair flowing out around her. She could feel him swirling his fingers through it, removing the shampoo.   
A few times a smooth hand stroked over her forehead, her ears, wiping away the faint remains of suds. Then hands delved and gripped her under the arms and she was dragged easily up to lie on his hard chest. 

She felt unaccountably relaxed. Perhaps a potion? 

She felt him snort. “You are quite suspicious.” he whispered against her ear and the movement of his mouth there caused a fluttery quiver in her stomach. His hands slid over her slick skin, gliding up and cupping her breasts.

She hadn’t even thought about how exposed she was until he touched her there again. 

Now though it was very different. Just as his fingers had known exactly how to touch and press to make her melt, his hands now knew how to hold her... how to stroke her skin... how to massage her small globes to make her sigh.. make her bite her lip and gasp in pleasure. 

She wriggled against him and could feel that he had hardened beneath her again. Just at this particular second she was a little preoccupied to care much about it and the next moment she didn’t even have time to yelp before he’d apparated them both.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/comments are always appreciated and will receive a response

A drying charm flashed over her like a searing breath. 

She still lay atop the pale hard body but the effects of gravity had re-established themselves and now she felt warm dry silky skin pressed against her from heels to nape. 

Looking around, she saw that it was quite dark in here also.   
A large room – an antique looking polished wood desk over to the side with a green glass lamp. Parchments and books littered its surface as if the writer had stood up from some involved project and left everything in place. Then there were bookshelves.   
She couldn’t help the wide eyed gulp at the long wall of bookshelves full of dark leather and cloth bound books. Something small, furtive and half feral in her yammered to be allowed to go and look through the titles. So long... so long since she’d last read a book!! 

The bed she lay upon was large and resembled the style of the beds at Hogwarts, however it lacked any curtains and the beams were crossed above the bed as her eye wandered up. A metallic ring in the centre of the X glinted ominously. 

One of Lord Voldemort’s hands stroked down her abdomen slowly. “Not today. I will show you the uses of that another time.” 

She shivered, trying to tear her active imagination away from the ring overhead. 

“Get up. On your knees!.” The hand withdrew to accommodate this new order. 

She found it difficult to get up. She was balanced on his body and what with where her bottom was currently she didn’t want to just sit up. After a moment of dithering she rolled off to the side and got up onto her hands and knees. 

“No. Kneel here. Straddle me.” he corrected, gesturing to his lap and then lifting his arms and folding them behind his head, the picture of ease and control. The hard line of his member was clear in her peripheral vision even if she forced herself not to look there. 

Seconds dragged on. She tried to make herself move. But here, kneeling, crouching down she felt safe; compressed into a tight little curl. To move - especially to more there - would constitute an opening; an exposition relative to her current position.

Impatience and warning flickered on the alien face and she jerked, adrenalin forcing her limbs to comply.   
She climbed over the lean muscled thighs and found she had to part her legs quite far and could not kneel without her inner thighs pressing against his outer, half sitting on him. It felt even more exposed than she had feared and she wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes, trying to control her shaking. 

“Good girl.” His voice was quiet. 

“Touch yourself.” 

Her eyes flew open in horror. No! There was no way she could do that. She COULD not do that. It was not within the realm of the possible. 

Hairless brows rose on the face of the wizard beneath her. “No? Why ever not? You claimed to be willing to obey.” 

She gulped again against her throat that had gone bone dry. “I can’t” she whispered, pleading. “Please...”   
When he sat up quickly, she flinched back and cowered. His face was almost at the same level as her own. He was so...tall...so much bigger than she was. A hard steely glint was in the red eyes as he reached for her and dragged her upright again, peeling her arms away from around her body. “Obey...” he murmured.   
His hand around her own led her fingertips down her abdomen slowly to the triangle of short curls at the apex of her thighs. She tried to pull back but his grip was iron. He forced her fingers down, down into her soft folds.   
Leaning down then he captured her nipple with his lips, suckling gently. 

She shuddered at the feeling. Her own fingers, guided by his hand, glided limply over her clitoris and that too felt...traitorously tantalising. She curved them slightly, almost without thinking, in the way she was most familiar with and received a flickering tongue over her nipple as apparent reward.   
He moved to her other nipple, glancing up at her as he did with an unreadable expression, and gave it a similar treatment.   
Her fingertips, quite without her permission had started to quest and stroke at her sensitive nub. It wasn’t wet enough. 

Her hand was pulled away immediately and lifted to his mouth.   
She blinked as Lord Voldemort sucked her first two fingers, red eyes displaying dark amusement at her appalled expression and removed them, slick with saliva, immediately pressing her hand back to its former task. It felt a lot better. She delved deeper. Rocking her hips slightly.

His hand cautiously released her own, as if balancing a house of cards. He leaned back slowly until he could rest on his elbows and look up at her, which made her stop moving and blush redly. 

“No. Continue.” He instructed quietly. “Show me. Show me how you pleasure yourself.”   
Her blush deepened if anything. She felt frozen. Her hand shook, the movement of her fingers stilled.   
The sudden irritation on his face frightened her. She had seen it before a lot. When he wore this face, pain almost invariably followed for someone. The irritation flickered and became frustration and then resignation. 

Sitting up, he made a complex gesture in the air and a black piece of fabric slithered into being, winding through his long pale fingers. She watched it transfixed. And then she couldn’t watch anything anymore because he had reached up and affixed the silken blindfold over her eyes. 

The next thing she felt were warm hands on the cheeks of her bottom, dragging her forward past his pelvis until she knelt over his abdomen. There was nothing for a few moments and she bit her lip, waiting for whatever would happen to her now. Then her hand was gently pushed aside and she jumped as his fingertips stroked feather light over her folds. 

“Shhhhh... Calm...” he murmured.   
His fingers went away and came back again slick and wet. She gasped as they explored her gently, delving down deeper and tracing the small circlet of her entrance. One finger slipped inside but withdrew again almost immediately. 

She realised he had been checking to see if her hymen was intact and frowned beneath the blindfold. He really was going to have sex with her. Clearly. 

The light pressure of his slick fingers trailed back up and stroked over the tiny bud at the top of her pussy, making her tense slightly. It felt so completely different than when she touched herself.   
She struggled to suppress her reaction. She didn’t want to react. Not for him. He might be fascinating to watch from the cage and he might not have hurt her yet but he was still Voldemort. Voldemort!! 

He strummed at her gently and she shivered and rocked her hips helplessly, blind. The blindfold seemed to make it even harder to ignore the sensations and easier to forget who was evoking them. Straining to prevent herself from responding again she wrapped her arms around herself tightly.

“Hands behind your back, I think.” The reedy voice instructed almost patiently.   
When she didn’t move to comply she was jolted and yelped out loudly, jumping away from an electric shock in her most sensitive place - right where his slender fingers were playing. 

“Put your hands behind your back Hermione. You do not wish to oblige me to repeat myself again.” 

She pulled her hands behind her back quickly, blinking away tears. She both heard and felt him move and then he pressed her wrists against one another. When his hand moved away she was unsurprised to find she could not part them again. Then he returned to touching her and now there were nothing she could do about the feeling of being completely open and vulnerable.   
His fingers moved in exploration; changing their pattern of movement, now skating lightly up and down, now side to side and then in circles.   
She whimpered. That was how she preferred to touch herself when she was in bed alone at night.   
It was... so much stronger... so much more when foreign fingers were stimulating her in that way – her breath came faster.

He seemed to pick this up immediately and started to vary his pressure, locating the level that made her move helplessly against his hand and then...then he alternated until he found a speed that had her moaning softly and winding her hips, her head falling back in unwilling pleasure as he manipulated her with ease toward a climax she could no more resist than she could resist drawing breath. 

Just as she neared it she felt a fingertip circle her entrance, slowly, teasingly, dipping in and circling again and it pushed her sharply over the edge. She cried out in release and he knew what she needed, pressing hard, mashing her clit with a rapidly circling thumb as she came apart.   
In her daze she felt two fingers slide through her wetness and then she heard him suck on them. She had the feeling he wanted her to hear. 

“You taste divine...” he said in a tone that sounded thoughtful. “I have never sampled a mudblood before. I had thought you might taste-..” His voice trailed off and then he leaned up, unbinding her hands and pulled her down to him. 

She emitted a weary yelp of surprise as she overbalanced and fell, landing against his hard warm chest. Lips... He kissed her. She could taste herself very faintly on his tongue. “Give yourself to me” he growled low between kisses. “Say yes.”   
She kissed him back because it was less energy than struggling, but she didn’t reply. 

The blindfold was pulled off roughly and he rolled her beneath him, his body resting heavily against her, cradled absurdly naturally between her parted legs. 

She looked up at the white alien face – disturbed anew at the strangeness of it after only minutes of its absence. He leaned down slowly and kissed her again, lingeringly. There was something dark in his kiss this time. 

“Ask me to take you. Demand it. Give yourself to me, Hermione!” 

He rocked against her and the hard hot press of his thick shaft was somehow obscenely exciting. She realised she was curious how it would feel if he put it inside her. What was sex like? Everyone else seemed to make a big fuss over it. She didn’t want to find out with him...but then... there was that curiosity. He was horrible. Terrifying. Fascinating. Powerful. Intelligent...um... He kissed her again, harder, bruising her lips. She gave herself over to it.

There was nothing whatsoever she could do right now. She was in a bed and Lord Voldemort had for whatever reason decided he wanted to have sex with her and surely nobody in the world could possibly despise her later on for letting it happen rather than provoking punishment and torture. 

Surely! It made no sense to do that – she’d only be weaker for it and he’d probably rape her anyway.   
Her heart sank a little. Harry would hold it against her. He would never accept it.   
No matter what happened, if she didn’t fight tooth and nail, she’d lose him forever. 

The snake above her had dropped his face to her neck and was doing very interesting things there with his tongue. She angled her head for him without even thinking and then sucked in a breath in surprised pleasure as he nibbled on a place that had her toes curling. “Ohhhh...”   
The feeling intensified until she became faintly aware that she was mewling and clutching at him. He ground his cock against her and she moaned and rubbed herself on it. 

“Give yourself to me” he whispered against her ear and she nodded, clinging and just wanting him to go back to biting up and down the side of her throat gently. 

“No... Say it. I wish to hear it!” He breathed at the shell of her ear, making her shudder excitedly. 

She bit her tongue, trying to stop the words that wanted to pour out of her mouth. He nipped her teasingly and she felt his fingers scratch up her ribs and fondle her breast. He was being so bizarrely gentle.   
In her remotest consideration of how Lord Voldemort might treat her if he ever...um... not that she’d thought he ever would obviously – but in that unlikely scenario she’d imagined blood and screaming and terror.   
The hot mouth at her neck moved up to nibble her earlobe. “That too can be arranged.” he murmured and she thought quickly. 

“Take me, if you want me.” she sighed, turning her face, her cheek brushing against the pale smooth one. Her hands were investigating the muscles on his shoulders and back. 

He turned and kissed her once more and she felt him move slightly. Then without warning he thrust forward with unerring aim, driving into her brutally. She screamed. It hurt more than she had ever imagined it would – and that was after listening to the girls in the dorm talk about how terrible it had been their first time. It felt like he had torn her open.   
He pulled out with a feeling as if he was dragging half her insides with him and then stabbed roughly in again, deeper this time.

She scrabbled and tried to push him off. “Stop! Please! Please... it hurts.” She managed, choked. 

He paid not the slightest attention but caught her wrists and pressed them to the bed next to her head as he moved in her harshly – he was almost fully seated each time now and it felt like he was stabbing one of her internal organs when he thrust in.   
“Hush. A little pain. Don’t fuss.” he said huskily, a dark gleam of lust on his face. 

She felt tears springing up and tried to remain still. Hopefully he would finish quickly. 

He sighed heavily and ceased his motion, turning and kissing her again. She didn’t respond but it didn’t seem to perturb him at all. He kissed her gently, almost soothingly. 

“Don’t pout” he murmured against her lips. “In the beginning there is pain. You knew this. But it will abate.”   
He circled his pelvis slowly and it stung a little but felt strange also... like... an itch or a tickle or... a sensation that begged a physical response. 

“It is already less painful... is it not?” 

He pressed tiny butterfly kisses to her lips and eased his cock out and back into her smoothly. It still hurt when he pressed in. 

“Yes... that is simply a factor of the disparity in our relative sizes. You are...small...tight... that is a good thing. You feel...like a velvet vice around me. Intensely pleasurable. And in time... when you adapt you will appreciate my size. “ He circled his pelvis again as he ground deeper into her and she winced at the sharp stabbing pain. It felt like her body was not designed for this; like he was stretching her beyond capacity. It felt...it felt...kind of good now. 

He smirked and ground against her again and she tightened her muscles in response unconsciously, making him close his eyes and hiss softly. Blinking she observed this strange demonstration of enjoyment and did it again.   
He thrust into her harder, his hairless head dropping slightly and a strange almost peaceful expression on his face, his eyes still closed. She could hear his breath was faster now. Abruptly he pulled his head up and watched her. The black slits of his eyes were so wide that they were ovals.

He seemed to be struggling to study her as if watching for something. He shifted around and adjusted his movement, much as he had with his fingers until she was just unable to think any more... gasping out in little excited sighs and bucking up hard against him.   
He played her up and down with ease, bringing her to the edge of release and then changing his movement and frustrating her. She was only faintly aware of the panting satisfaction on the flat face. 

When she was almost at the brink of screaming in frustrated need, he balanced and then slid a hand between them both, circling her clit with a slick thumb and she suddenly lost herself completely and screamed out in ecstatic bliss, clinging tightly to the hard body above as her climax drowned her. 

She heard him hiss something in parseltongue in her ear and the sound was somehow perversely sexy, and then he was groaning and coming.   
Hot slippery liquid burst against her deep inside. She felt it faintly. It was an entirely new sensation that she was not able to appreciate fully due to the fact that her mind was exploding in bright flashes and liquidlike waves of pleasure.   
His face was bowed against her neck, breathing quickly as his movements, jerky and almost spasmodic slowed and he ground into her with a low groan of relief. 

 

She panted, trying to regain her breath, entirely unable to move; reeling her mind back in. That had felt...fucking amazing! All the time she’d been in the library studying while everyone else was off shagging like nifflers.   
If she’d known it felt like that, she thought she might have possibly been just a little bit more like lavender or Ginny. She might have-.. 

A painful stinging hex made her entire body flinch as she yelped out in shock. That HURT! Her body felt soft and raw and it hurt a LOT. 

Lord Voldemort was glaring at her disapprovingly, their bodies still entwined. “None of that, mudblood. I’ll not listen to a list of the partners you wish you had taken. Especially not at this particular moment. I am... pleased... you like this activity. There is much, much more to learn.” 

At the word learn her mind drifted back to the glorious expanse of his bookshelves and she felt the snake snort in amusement above her. 

“While I understand that sentiment also...In fact I may understand better than any other you might meet... I would rather not share your attention with my library right now either.” 

He stretched and rolled his shoulders and then slid back, withdrawing his softening organ from her and lowering himself to lie beside her.   
She lay, uncertain what to do now, trying her best not to think about the lovely lovely books a few metres away. What did he want? She didn’t imagine Lord Voldemort to be the cuddling type. But he had suggested he wanted her attention now. 

If she tried to snuggle up to him (ignoring the obvious insanity of this thought) then he might hex her or something. 

She glanced nervously to the side. 

The white form lay in a position of utmost relaxation. He had thrown a bent arm up onto the pillow above his head. Her eye took in the absolute hairlessness of his body - so smooth, hard, like warm marble. His nipples were as white as the rest of him.   
It was... unnatural.   
But not necessarily aesthetically displeasing.   
With the exception of his nose and perhaps his lack of hair on his head... and maybe the eyes - (the eyes were kind of terrifying) - he could be an attractive man. He was beautifully toned, each muscle well defined and proportioned.   
Was being a psychotic despot a good workout, she wondered. Or did he dedicate himself to some kind of gymnasium training daily? 

He closed his eyes while she watched and she thought again of how he had submerged himself in the bath. He had looked strangely calm and peaceful like that and the look on his face was similar now. “What would you like to learn?” he murmured softly. 

She blinked, not expecting the question at all. ‘Um... everything?’ her mind responded greedily. A tiny smirk twisted the corner of his mouth. “What would you most like to read about at present? I am feeling generous.” 

Hermione struggled to reign in her frantically demanding factions. Transfiguration. No! Charms. NO! Runes – Voldemort was supposed to be a master in ancient runes, wasn’t he?   
The next thought didn’t so much announce itself as sidle up and whisper conspiratorially in the back of her mind. ‘I might never have a chance to study the dark arts if I’m rescued. What better excuse than Voldemort made me do it?! And he’d have an absolutely massive collection! He’d know what the best texts are – he’d have rare texts. He might have even written his own work in the area. It would be the best use of the option.   
And... He might like it if I show an interest in the dark arts... not that him liking anything is at all relevant beyond keeping him from cursing me. But still... it would be the best choice.

“Are you certain you can reconcile yourself morally with that subject?” –he yawned and she frowned; thinking as clearly as she could: ‘stop listening to my thoughts. It’s very rude.’ His snort and smile told her that he’d heard that too. 

“I told you once before – I enjoy your mind. You are often quite unintentionally amusing.   
...Very well. I will give you what you think you want. The Dark Arts are very broad. I will allow you to read a fairly introductory level runic text and we shall see how you receive it.”   
He lifted his left hand and summoned a book from the wall of bookshelves. She noted that it was his left hand. Wandless magic with his non dominant hand - That was bloody impressive. 

The book he had summoned floated over and he caught it out of the air without looking and passed it to her, shifting slightly as if to make himself more comfortable. “Wake me...carefully... when you reach chapter five and we shall see how well you have comprehended the material.” 

She sat up in surprise, holding the thick black leather bound tome. There would be a test on it?! Oh no!! She wanted clothing. And a desk or a table or something. This was... this was just not right. 

Voldemort lazed, seemingly utterly at home in his nakedness. She looked about in discomfort. There was no way she could presume to use his desk and she needed some kind of clothing. Her clothes were in the bathroom on the floor, the recalled but looking around she couldn’t see any kind of door that might lead to a bathroom. There were no doors at all in this room. 

She looked back down at Voldemort again as if the blind force of her discomfort would provoke a sudden personality change and he’d show mercy and give her a slip or a shift or something.   
He hadn’t even scourgified her. She could feel his... his...   
..oh for goodness sake, don’t be squeamish about it now...his semen...leaking out of her body. 

That thought dragged another one after it like a mouse leading a troll on a leash. He had... um... he had come inside her... and she obviously wasn’t on the potion. Had he cast any charms? Oh god... what if she got pregnant?! 

She didn’t believe in abortion but it actually seemed almost an appealing prospect in contrast with the alternatives.   
What if he killed her for it?   
What if he didn’t kill her?!   
But no! He’d never allow a half-muggleborn child to come into the world. He’d kill her – or kill it. Same difference.

Perhaps it wasn’t too late to ask for the potion or something? Muggles had a morning after pill – there must be something of that type in the wizarding world, surely. 

“You have not begun reading yet” the soft dangerous voice interrupted her frantic thoughts. 

She turned to see a tightness around his forehead that hadn’t been there before. “No... I’m sorry. I’ll... i’ll start now.”   
His expression didn’t become peaceful again. If anything it tightened. He cracked a single crimson eye. “You would rather die than bear my child?” 

She goggled. What could she possibly say to that? Terror blossomed in her. Had he perhaps done it deliberately? Did he want a child? Was that why he’d done it? “I’m... a mug-mudblood” she said, almost pleadingly. “You couldn’t...You-“ 

“Never presume to try and tell me what I can and cannot do” He interrupted coldly, his red eyes opening wide in anger. “– I have killed infinitely more powerful beings than yourself for the insolence.”   
“I know you are aware of my own parentage. Would a mudblood mother truly be significantly worse than a muggle father?!” 

“Over time I have learned that blood is not everything, Hermione. Far more important are power... ability... intelligence...and of course...physical potency - Which this body lacks. 

At present I could not impregnate you even if I desired such a thing. There is not a fertility spell in existence that could achieve that. This body is not...human. Read the book and let me sleep now.”

He closed his eyes and turned his face away. The atmosphere around him had changed though. Gone was the peaceful ease.   
She swallowed, regretting having ruined that mood.   
Objectively seen he had been ...nice... to her. He’d let her have a bath. He’d...it had been nice – weird but nice – when he washed her hair and ok perhaps she hadn’t exactly wanted to sleep with him but he’d been... mostly... gentle and it had felt very...very...good... and then he gave her a book...practically a book of her choice to read. No... Better than her choice... she didn’t know enough about the area to make an informed choice. He gave her a book he thought might appeal to her and then he said he would go over the material with her later.

That was just... above and beyond being...nice... to her. At least.. for Voldemort. 

She realised that the tiny niggly feeling inside was actually guilt.   
She felt guilty for upsetting Lord Voldemort. What the hell was wrong with her?! The idea of hurting Voldemort’s feelings was just bizarre – did he even have feelings? It seemed like something he would be generally opposed to. 

And yet – she had feelings and right now she felt bad. As if she had done something offensive accidentally.   
She looked over at him and considered apologising. Or... or touching him... or something. But in the end she decided it was a bad idea if he was in a bad mood. It would be better if she just worked hard to prove herself by comprehending the material in the book. 

She opened it up on her naked lap and, with a resolute expression, set her unfit, too-long-out-of-classes, mind to deciphering the thick runic text.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reviews/comments are always appreciated and will receive a response

Her back hurt when she woke and as she tried to stretch, quite a few other muscle groups protested urgently. She cracked her eyes and looked out blearily through the silver filigree.

Voices had woken her. 

Professor Snape was down on one knee before the bottom step making a report.   
Harry. She’d heard Harry’s name mentioned. 

She forced her mind awake and tried to focus on the professor. 

“-order hasn’t had contact with Potter or Weasley in two months now. They are extremely concerned. There have been isolated unsubstantiated reports of sightings but I have not been successful in persuading them to breach their respective fidelius boundaries in order to pursue the two wretches. They are clinging to the notion that Dumbledore must have prepared the boy for an extended period underground.” 

Hermione woke up a little more, her mind snapping to attention. She remained exactly as she lay, unwilling to risk drawing attention to herself at present.   
In her peripheral vision she saw that the red dress Voldemort had put back on her last night (or... this morning? Time was a sketchy thing these days) had been changed by the elves while she slept. Her body was encased in grey-blue satin with silvery embroidery now. 

For some inexplicable reason she had the sudden feeling that Voldemort was aware she had woken and had turned his attention toward her. She could see that he sat unmoved in his throne. No faint gesture or flicker of a crimson eye suggested that she was being observed... and yet... she just knew she was. 

Professor Snape continued speaking. “Perhaps we might draw potter and Weasley out - or at the very least lure out some of the Order if we use the mudblood as-“ 

“No.” Lord Voldemort interrupted dismissively. “How are affairs at Hogwarts, Severus?” he questioned, changing the subject. 

Professor Snape blinked, his face absolutely emotionless.

“The school is running tolerably well, My Lord. The Carrows are proving somewhat counter-productive in many ways. They have been torturing students for the smallest infractions. It is feeding support for an underground resistance group along the lines of the little training club potter set up in fifth year.” 

Hermione stiffened and was sorely tempted to leap up and respond to that.   
Harry didn’t set it up. SHE had set it up. The DA had been her idea, she had organized it, she had recruited and bound its members. She had found many if not most of the spells that Harry had taught. Half of them she’d taught him first! The DA was her group -created in response to the utter joke that DADA had become under Umbrages tyranny. Bloody censored children’s books that had nothing whatsoever to do with anything even faintly defence related. Stupid horrid horrid woman.’ 

She caught the phantom smirk flash over the face of the serpent Lord. Professor Snape seemed to interpret it as related to the Carrows. 

“I shall perhaps speak with them, my servant. Although... I don’t really see where the harm lies. Those students who dare to resist... who attempt to fight me... will all be destroyed.” 

“Do not concern yourself with the boy or his sidekick. I have others working on that particular issue. ...I would prefer to keep the mudblood caged at present. I wish to kill her before Harry’s eyes when the time comes.” 

Hermione felt her blood run cold suddenly.   
Oh.   
That was what was going to happen. Why she hadn’t been hurt... hadn’t been... had hardly been touched. He would probably tell Harry what she’d done with him.   
She felt sick suddenly, her stomach cramping in horror. Stupid stupid stupid. Of course that was the point. How deranged had she become from living in this cage that she even faintly considered for a second that there could be any other reason for her continued, relatively unharmed, existence. 

“But surely my L-“ professor Snape began. Hermione could have told him not to try it. “Crucio!” the high reedy voice spat and the professor crashed to the floor shaking and writhing in pain.   
To his credit he suffered in near silence, only gaspy breaths conveying his agony. 

Voldemort held the curse on him for ten achingly long seconds.

As he arched and convulsed professor Snape’s eyes flicked to her, meeting her own gaze as she lay, widening in shock then, before they closed in something that looked remarkably like shame.   
She closed her own eyes in response, listening as the curse was dropped and professor Snape gasped apologies for daring to second guess his Lordliness and was summarily dismissed. 

She opened her eyes again because of a strange awareness.   
Like the sense of being attended to before, she felt the weight of eyes upon her. 

When she opened her eyes she startled.   
Voldemort stood very close to the cage, looking through the filigree down at her with a thoughtful expression. He flicked a hand in a casual gesture and the style of her dress altered itself around her. Its length crawled up her knee to rest on her mid thigh daringly. The bodice became tighter. Then he turned away without a word and returned to his throne, sitting with an air of impatience. 

She pushed herself up off the floor to a sitting position and stretched.   
It was cold. Colder now that she had less satin around her to tuck her legs into. 

The crack of apparition drew her eye as if a commercial break on television had finished. 

A man she had seen once or twice before stood looking pleased with himself and strode forward, dropping to his knee eagerly. He had dark blond hair that was bound in a coiffed queue behind him and a slender build – his blue eyes were lively but arrogant. She recalled he worked in the ministry. Some clerk or something. He wasn’t very important... but he thought he was. 

“Success, My Lord! Your directions were perfect – the entire department was empty and I was able to intercept it seconds after it appeared. It was not officially noted in any way.” 

Voldemort looked inordinately pleased and Hermione wondered what it was that he cared about to that extent. Something horrible, almost certainly. Bad news for her. Bad news for Harry and the order. 

“Excellent, Travers. Give it to me.” 

The man reached into his pocket and withdrew a scroll bound in thin white ribbon. It was summoned out of his hand immediately. Lord Voldemort caught it and untied it quickly, opening it and inspecting whatever was written inside. His smile widened into a dark gloat of satisfaction. “Did you read it, Travers?” he asked, without looking at the man. 

Travers paused just a fraction of a second too long. Hermione knew he must have read it. It was in the tension at the corner of his mouth.

“No, My Lord, what is it?” he asked disingenuously. 

The crimson eyes slid up and then the man dropped to his knees, his mouth an O of shock and eyes wide and frightened.   
Voldemort dropped his mind again seconds later with a derisive sneer. “Well at least you were not foolish enough to attempt to make copies.” He raised his wand with an air of finality Hermione had come to know extremely well. “Avada Kedavra.” He said almost disinterestedly. 

Travers did not even try to evade the curse and seemed unable to comprehend that he was being killed; right up until the green light struck him and knocked the life out of his eyes. 

She watched the expression shift on the pale flat face into the one she had labelled internally ‘making a long distance call’ It preceded someone turning up here so often she had come to understand that in some way he was summoning them.   
He leaned back in the throne, gazing off into the distance as if deep in thought. 

 

The time stretched on and no death eater appeared. 

This appeared to upset Voldemort and he took on the expression of ‘making an urgent long distant call.’ From the way those summoned appeared gripping their arm and looking pained, she assumed that he was able to make it quite uncomfortable for them if they chose to ignore his summons. 

Finally after another two minutes a man apparated into the room looking extremely distressed. 

Seeing Travers body crumpled on the floor he seemed to panic even more and threw himself to his knees immediately, pressing his face to the ground and prostrating himself.   
He was quite young. Not bad looking, she thought. He had short dark brown hair and dark eyes. He looked like an actor she remembered from a science fiction movie actually. A little bit. 

“Please My Lord!!” he wailed. 

“Unfortunately Gorley, your dear friend has sealed your fate. A pity.”

“OBLIVIATE ME!!” the man screamed desperately. 

Voldemort seemed to consider this seriously. “No...I am not prepared to accept any liabilities in this matter. But don’t despair. I shall see that your family are taken care of. Your son will one day serve in your place.” 

“NO!!!” Gorley shouted and was silenced by a green flash.   
Hermione watched the deaths of the two men with dull acceptance. It didn’t even manage to disturb her that seeing this day in, day out hardly affected her anymore.   
She could watch someone killed and truly have no opinion either way. 

When Voldemort spoke quietly and his tone indicated that he addressed her she tried to suppress the weird little frisson of excitement at the thought that the anomaly of yesterday was apparently not a one-time-only event. She shouldn’t be pleased at that.   
He’d said he was going to kill her. He’d only behaved like that yesterday so that he could rub it in Harry’s face.   
He was an evil monster in so very many ways she couldn’t even begin to name them all. 

“How might I dispose of these bodies? ...Name five ways.” 

She blinked and looked at him and then her mind kicked in, answering automatically. “You could vanish them. Transfigure them. Feed them to animals, incinerate them or divide them into component parts and use them in potions.” 

“Name another five” he said quietly and turned to her with a glint of challenge in the red gaze. 

“Um... ok... you could dissolve them in acid and pour them down the drain, you could push them through the veil in the department of mysteries, you could ...bury them underneath a coffin in a graveyard”   
She grasped for solutions from television. “You could chain them to an anchor and drop them into the ocean... you could...”

He interrupted “You think like a muggle. What spells could I use to dispose of them?!” 

She frowned slightly and thought about all the spells she knew. “Do you want to get rid of them completely or just put them somewhere or in some form where they won’t be found?” He smiled at her approvingly. “Tell me how I might destroy them entirely.” 

She bit her lip and let her head lean against the cage. “Ok... in the dissolving and vanishing spells there’s diffluo, dirimo, hferva, desagertu, zmizet, vyprchat”   
He raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘do go on.’   
“Um...ischezat, sbelgat, evanesco, emaresco, vanesco, abolesco, pereo, praemorio, maneant... decedo, ...diflannu...uh...”   
She struggled to think of one she hadn’t mentioned. “I’m... not sure...” she said softly.

He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Incinerating spells then. Begin.” 

She petered out around the twenty fifth spell. To be fair the last ten were all spells that were principally used for something else but theoretically could be used to incinerate a body if one were patient enough. He had her go through cutting spells – which she knew a lot more of- and then asked her about the possible transfigurations and the difficulties with these. 

While she answered, he watched her with a pleased expression, lounging back in the throne and toying absently at the arm with one hand. Her eye was drawn to it magnetically as she spoke.   
When he started to draw little circles on the wood with a long finger she blushed automatically, stuttering and breaking off her explanation. 

He smirked in amusement. “Not tonight.” 

His meaning was unmistakeable and she told herself that she was relieved and not disappointed or god forbid hurt. 

He stood, drifting gracefully to the edge of the low stairs and pointed his wand, vanishing Travers. He then levitated Gorley up and pulled him through the air closer. 

“You find him attractive...” he observed in a neutral tone that set the hairs on the back of her neck rising.   
She swallowed, not answering – no answer would be safe at this point – not when he looked like that. Not when he used that calm quiet voice. Tendrils of fear iced slowly up her veins. 

“I could render him an inferius and muzzle him if you wish his services in my absence...”   
His tone was soft and cruelly derisive but she wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t do it. He was quite impulsive when it came to doing nasty things to others. 

“No! Please! I don’t find him attractive. Please don’t!!” she begged. 

The thought of the man, white eyed and foaming around a muzzle, pushing her down and raping her filled her mind and she clenched her eyes closed and tried to get rid of the image. It was so clear. 

She could almost feel the hands clawing at her, trying to tear at her in inhuman hunger... the blind animal rutting ripping her open; she could almost hear the growls and moans.   
She whimpered and clenched her hands in her ringlets, pulling at her hair.   
The sensation faded and she looked up shocked. 

Voldemort was smirking horribly. He wore a satisfied mien.   
She realised he’d been in her mind. That was almost certainly what the horrible panicking expression she saw on the faces of death eaters and captives sometimes was about. The images were from him. 

God... it was terrible. 

She looked down and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. 

“Are you certain?” Voldemort’s voice was soft, a parody of temptation. “Gorley was quite popular with the women. I am certain that even in a...somewhat diminished... condition he could satisfy you adequately.” 

She shook her head frantically, pleading in silence for him not to hurt her. Lord Voldemort’s smirk faded to a cold threatening snarl and he stepped right up to the cage. “In future you will remember who you belong to. If it happens again, I will not be merciful.”   
With that he turned and stalked away, dragging the levitated Gorley after him like a helium balloon. 

She shuddered and hugged her knees more tightly. 

No food or water appeared that day (night?).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reviews/comments are always appreciated and will receive a response

She woke to screaming echoing off the walls.   
It was nothing new. She barely startled and actually considered going back to sleep. 

There was a gnawing in her stomach and it would be easier to tolerate if she were asleep. 

She cracked an eye to see who was under the wand at present and then opened her eyes in shock. It was Draco Malfoy.   
She struggled up, blinking and wiping at her eyes, trying to work out what was going on. 

Her dress was lavender crepe. She’d always hated the colour and the experiences with the girl by the same name hadn’t improved her feelings toward the colour. 

A single glass of water stood in the centre of her cage.   
She pounced on it but it dissolved into air in her fingers. 

 

The screams subsided into sobbing. She looked up again at the blonde figure curled into a foetal position on the black stone floor. What had Draco done to be punished? He’d received more than just a quick reproof hex.   
Several other younger boys stood in a line further back, shaking in their boots. Obviously the entire group had failed in some way. 

Her eye wandered along the row and then flicked back. She almost hadn’t recognised Blaise Zabini. The Slytherin had been in Malfoy’s circle since she could remember and had otherwise never been apparent in her view of Hogwarts.   
He looked very changed. Much harder. Of the group, he looked the least frightened.   
Determined and resigned, yes. Frightened... not so much.   
His pale grey eyes stood out against the coffee coloured skin sharply and sharp was a word that could be applied to a lot of things about him. He looked like someone who had seen too much too young. 

She wondered suddenly what she looked like herself. It had been months since she had last looked in a mirror. The silvery curls of the cage were matt. 

She crawled to the front of the cage and looked out through a gap, as Draco pulled himself back up onto his knees with difficulty. His face was tear-streaked as he looked up at Lord Voldemort.   
He seemed much younger than his years and utterly miserable. Not at all like the nasty arrogant little prat she’d faced at Hogwarts for six years.

“You are worthless! Just like your father. Voldemort hissed at him disparagingly. 

“Zabini. Forward.” 

Draco’s face, even in his discomfort became strained. “My Lord! Please! I can handle it! I’ll retrieve the sword if you give me one m-“ He was silenced. Voldemort didn’t even bother to curse him. He simply ignored him, which seemed to be worse for Draco. The boy’s head fell in horror.   
She wondered what could be so terrible that Voldemort seemed less frightening in comparison. 

Blaise had stepped forward and dropped now to one knee beside Draco. His face betrayed nothing. 

“You have...thoughts... on how Malfoy should have approached the problem, Zabini. Share them. Tell me why I should give your group a second chance. Why should I let you lead this assemblage of failures to potentially worsen the situation? What would you do any better than the streak of piss next to you?!” 

Hermione watched the emotions passing over Draco’s face like storm clouds.   
He was aware that his life hung in the balance and still his pride (and fear, for some reason) was flaring over the fact that he might not be the leader. He had always been the leader in his environment, particularly over friends, such as Blaise. Having to obey Blaise would be unthinkable, apparently.   
She felt sorry for him. 

Zabini spoke slowly but with purpose. “Draco did not know where to begin to search for the sword. He thought Potter must have it – Dumbledore would surely have left it to him. I have used – “ 

Voldemort held up one hand to still him for a moment. “Draco...” he said quietly. The blond head rose hopefully.   
Hermione wanted to tell him that that voice didn’t promise hope. He wasn’t calm – he was thinking about doing something cruel again. He had that faint anticipatory expression. Don’t trust it! 

“Perhaps you might be interested to know that the mudblood in the cage is feeling sorry for you. She...pities... you” Voldemort said softly, almost understandingly. Draco’s eyes burned suddenly and his face twisted in frustrated rage. He looked over at her with an expression of disgust and hate but remained silent. Voldemort smiled wanly. 

“If you wish to go and ...thank her... for her tender concern for you... I will allow it.” 

Draco fairly leapt up and reached her cage in half a second.   
The Crucio was worse than she had imagined even after seeing everyone screaming and twisting under it.   
She heard herself screaming as if from far away; she was simply unable to prevent her body from writhing and fighting and clenching in agony. It felt worse than anything she’d ever experienced.

As if her nerves were being dissected with white hot scalpels... as if her muscles were being flayed layer by layer, tightened on a rack. 

Her internal organs seemed to be boiling... tearing... her eyeballs were on fire... were full of needles... everything hurt.   
Everything hurt.   
She wanted it to stop. 

Anything for it to stop. 

Anything, anything, just stop!! 

It went on forever. 

She thought she must die soon. The body couldn’t possibly sustain this much pain. 

But it went on and on. 

 

“Enough.” Voldemort’s cold voice was like a balm from heaven. Draco reluctantly ended the curse a second later.   
The pain didn’t stop though. Everything ached.   
Her muscles burned and she couldn’t stop herself from sobbing helplessly and clutching at herself, trying to stop the horrible nauseating ache in her abdomen. 

And she was thirsty. So thirsty! 

At least when Voldemort ignored her completely, she generally received water once a day and she wasn’t cruciated. 

Voldemort must have indicated for Blaise to go on because the boy continued speaking. He knew how to find the sword. She stopped listening. Didn’t care any longer. She tried to go to sleep but it hurt too much. Blaise finished speaking and Voldemort placed him in charge and some time afterward, after he’d tossed a few insulting remarks at Draco and the others, he sent them off. 

She didn’t move. Didn’t even bother trying to open her eyes. Everything should just stay perfectly still and then eventually the pain would stop. 

She had seen Draco get up again and kneel. Professor Snape too. Quite a lot of people suffered a cruciatus and then a few minutes later they were at least capable of dragging themselves up to some extent.   
But it hurt! She would just stay exactly as she was until it stopped. 

 

The click of the cage door startled her and the flinch made all her muscles protest again anew and started a new chain reaction of burning and aching. 

“You provoked me to do that” the strange light voice informed her. 

She disagreed vehemently but didn’t care in the slightest right now. If she didn’t do anything now then maybe he’d go away and she could just wait for this sensation to stop. 

A hand on her upper arm made her whimper and try to shy away, and then yelp in pain. 

“Shhhh... shhhh...” 

The hand withdrew and then she felt herself levitated.   
The pressure of the ground against half her body dropped away and the muscles beneath pricked painfully in sharp pins and needles as they ached. It only made her try to clamp tighter into a foetal position, which in turn only made everything ache and burn again. She tried to remain still. 

Nothing seemed to happen for a while. She wondered whether Voldemort had gone – left her levitating in her cage to recover and gingerly cracked her eyes. 

She was in his bedroom.   
She hovered a few inches over the bed.   
Her heart sank. 

Oh god... no... Please no. Don’t... no... If he wanted to have sex now... while the slightest move was painful... If he tried to touch her... she couldn’t! Just thinking about it made everything hurt more in response. 

He wasn’t within her field of vision. She closed her eyes again and prayed that he wouldn’t do anything. She’d never believed in any religion. It seemed a bit unnecessary and illogical – but if there should happen to be any higher power looking over things – she begged it to help her. 

 

“Drink this” the high breathy voice instructed from behind her, making her flinch. 

She hated it when he was behind her and she couldn’t see his expression or posture. 

A hand entered her field of vision when she opened her eyes, holding a short diamond shaped phial of purple fluid. When she didn’t move, the snow white hand placed the glass lip of the little bottle to her lips and slowly tipped it.   
She was so thirsty that she drank it greedily, not even caring what it was. It was wet.   
It tasted like chalk and left sediment in her mouth.

“Swallow everything” Voldemort ordered in a non-negotiable manner.   
She tried.   
She felt even thirstier now. 

The hand returned holding a tall glass of icy water. The outside of the glass was sweating little pearls of liquid. She looked at it longingly and tentatively unwrapped one hand, whimpering and trying to reach for the glass. She needed water.   
A straw materialised in the glass and it came closer. She sucked on it frantically. 

“Slowly” he admonished. 

She felt his other hand stroke over her hair gently. It felt almost proprietorial.   
She couldn’t drink slower - she was still so thirsty. It was like a breath of air after coming up from underwater. 

“Slowly!” He commanded more sharply. 

When she didn’t obey he pulled the glass away.   
She winced, gasping for air, and tried to reach for it again. “Please...” she begged.   
Fingertips stroked her face lightly. “No. Breathe. I will allow you to have some more soon.”   
She watched agonised as the condensation coated glass, still as full as when it had been first lowered, was raised and left her view. 

The aching sensation had diminished slightly. 

Voldemort walked around the bed and sat down facing away from her. She looked at the back of the pale smooth head. The black robes he wore today had a faint pattern in the weave.   
She hadn’t noticed. She hadn’t been looking at him today. 

“No. You were watching the Malfoy whelp” he said coldly. 

She frowned slightly and whispered hoarsely “His screams woke me up! It was hard to ignore. I haven’t seen him in months. I wasn’t...thinking he was handsome or anything. He just looked so miserable...and afraid” 

He tilted his head and she had the feeling that he might be rolling his eyes. 

“I am fully aware of what you were thinking.” 

He lowered his head and sighed slightly and then turned, climbing onto the bed properly and dragging himself up to lean against the headboard, one knee raised.   
He looked at her and tilted his head. She wasn’t sure what mood he was in. His expression was not familiar.   
He curled his fingers slowly and she floated closer to him. 

When she hung in the air inches away from him, he stroked her head again.   
“I rather like your hair...” he said distractedly. “Particularly in thick coils like this.” he wound his long slender fingers in the ringlets. After a moment he added, looking slightly perturbed “perhaps I should not have allowed Draco to curse you. “   
She felt a strange sensation flicker through her mind, like a breeze. It abated again, nothing seemed to have happened. 

“How do you feel now?” he asked softly and almost sounded like he cared.   
“A little better.” she offered uneasily.   
“Good. I will lower you to the bed carefully. Relax” 

The mattress brushed against her and then pressed harder, setting off a faint ache. After a while it subsided somewhat. His fingers returned to her curls and toyed again.   
She licked her lips slightly and wondered whether he was in a good enough mood for her to risk asking for the water again. 

Apparently so – Since he summoned it and lengthened the straw, lowering the glass until the straw could reach her. 

“Slowly this time” he said in a warning voice. 

She sucked at the straw as soon as he put it to her lips and closed her eyes, urgently needing more and trying to drink slowly so that he wouldn’t take it away again. 

“You’ll throw it up if you drink too quickly... and if that happens - the potion, which you have diluted by mixing it with so much water, will be gone too and your pain will take much longer to fade.” 

She nodded thirstily. Her stomach was telling her that she was full but her throat was parched.   
The straw was removed and she opened her eyes and looked for it longingly. 

Crimson eyes frowned at her reprovingly. “You have had enough now.”   
He placed the glass on the bedside table and then turned and lowered himself, till he could lie level with her and turn his face toward hers. She looked back at the flat serpentine face warily.   
It was another strange expression he wore. She hadn’t seen it on him in the great hall before. 

He moved closer still and then he carefully put an arm over her. 

Fear flared up like a lighted match thrown onto dry straw. No. Don’t! He couldn’t want...that... now, surely? He pressed a gentle kiss to her cheekbone, his hand stroking over the lavender crepe of the dress on her back. “You would deny me?” He murmured low. 

She panicked.   
He did! He wanted THAT. Now! 

“please..” she whispered. “Please don’t!” 

The pale face twisted into a faint smirk. “You beg so prettily my dear. Soon enough you will be begging me to take you again. Pleading with me to put out the fire inside.” His hand swept her curls back from her face and he half sighed.   
“I find myself...possessive... of you... of your mind. Your...attention... Today you did not look at me.” The crimson eyes narrowed but it didn’t seem he was exactly angry at her...  
“Your heart wept for that useless spoiled little creature. I...missed the weight of your eyes... the strange little preoccupations of your mind. You slept most of the day.”   
“Perhaps I was particularly harsh toward the younger Malfoy purely in order to wake you.” 

Hermione tried to stay perfectly still. This was insane. Lord Voldemort did not do or not do things because he wanted the attention of a mudblood. That was just a ridiculous thought. 

He kissed her suddenly, his tongue forcing her lips to part and delving into her mouth. He tasted of apple, incongruently enough.   
She responded, moving her timid tongue against his, wondering when he ate. She had never seen him eat or drink anything. And Apple?!.. It was a fresh, crisp taste. She was hungry.   
Her stomach ached sharply, growling and she felt him smile through the kiss.   
She wouldn’t have put it past him to have eaten purely to be cruel. 

He drew back and frowned.   
“I eat.”   
He kissed her again lingeringly and murmured against her lips “and drink...”   
He brushed his face along hers and whispered next to her ear “I sleep...”   
“I do not do any of these things purely to torture you, Hermione.” 

She felt his hand steal to the top of her back and then the sound of the zip being drawn down was loud. 

“Say my name.” he commanded softly, his lips moving feathery light against her ear. “I want to hear it carried on your voice.” 

She bit her lip. She didn’t want to. She couldn’t say it to him. She could say it in the Gryffindor common room when everyone else was pale and muttering about you know who...   
but it was like whistling when you pass a graveyard.   
It was very different when you were alone.   
Inside the locked gates.   
At three in the morning.   
And there were sounds of stone gritting against stone all around. 

The lips whispered again, low and teasing. “You cannot say it?” 

She swallowed and tried. “L... Lo..” her voice faded away to nothing as the fear stole it. 

The zip had stopped and his fingers slid into her opened dress to stroke silkily up and down her back. 

“If you cannot say my name... what will you responds when you are asked to whom you belong?” 

Something inside clenched at that. She didn’t belong to him! Harry would come. He would save her!   
Unexpectedly this defiant little thought didn’t draw the immediate punishment she had expected.   
Voldemort snorted, amused. 

“He will come. Eventually.” He conceded.   
“Nevertheless... you are mine. You will always be mine now. Until I free you from this world.”   
And really... why would you wish Harry to save you from me?”   
He does not want you. Has never even seen you.”   
None of them have – they have seen only a bookish little swot with bushy hair who can assist them to pass their classes.” 

“When he comes, he will be coming for me, not to save you. He has already accepted your loss.” “Believe me - I feel his mind; his heart.”   
“Oh...You are mourned. Mourned as one who is already dead.” 

“He is not planning your rescue, Hermione. He is planning a daring attack to kill me so that he might return home, banishing the responsibility of the wizarding world’s fate from his mind and settle down with that insipid little Weasley girl.”   
“He desires only to have an undemanding, mundane life and a house full of squalling brats.” 

“Even if he managed, through some strange twist of fate, to rescue you – he would drift away from you. You would remind him too much of his guilt... guilt for leaving you here. Abandoning you. Not even attempting to rescue you before it was too late.”   
“Six months you sat, unharmed and waiting; hoping...” 

“Do you know – he hoped you were dead, Hermione. He considered it a mercy that you were muggleborn – imagining you might have been killed quickly. He dreams and longs for Ginevra.” 

Hermione closed her eyes in misery. Cruel. He was so cruel. Why did he have to...?   
The thin lips pressed against her own again and persisted until she gave up and kissed back. 

He drew away again, slowly and his voice was soft and seductive. 

“But I want you, Hermione. I have selected you over every witch in the wizarding world.“ 

“Have you any idea of the honour I have bestowed upon you?! I desire you. I am willing to teach you. I have taken you for my own.” 

She felt a traitorous little worm of temptation twist in her gut. ‘He is a liar. Remember what a good liar he is. He said only yesterday that he was going to kill me. All of this is just to hurt Harry. All of this. And if it wasn’t. Its monstrous. He is evil. He just said two minutes ago that he cruciated Draco just to wake me up. There are no words for this.’ 

The strange face looked at her with anger that twisted almost immediately into something like frustration. 

“Do you imagine that if I curse you now, I shall not take you again? That you will be returned to your cage? Killed perhaps? Is that the purpose behind this provocation?” 

The hand on her back slid up and fisted itself into her hair and he kissed her hard, bruising her mouth as he forced her to yield. He didn’t let her go this time. A tingle of magic vanished the lavender gown and he forced her down onto her back, his silky robe cool against her skin.   
She yelped into his mouth as her body protested the movement, the partial compression. 

He didn’t pause for a moment and a hand slid down her body, cupping her ribs and delving into the small of her back to hold her, just above the swell of her buttocks. She didn’t even struggle.   
Couldn’t even struggle. It hurt to try to move.   
It hurt to be touched. It hurt to lie still but it had been almost tolerable when she was lying on her side and he wasn’t touching her too much.   
Hot tears slipped out of the corner of her eyes. 

“Mmmm” he growled, sucking on her tongue and then he pulled back to look down at her appraisingly.   
“You really should apply yourself more diligently to learning how to please me, my dear. You would not be in this pain if you had not behaved in an intolerable manner. I might be more...delicate... with you right now if you had not spat my generosity back at me.” 

He lifted his hand beneath her slightly and she cried out in pain. Lifting there caused a large number of muscles to protest urgently, cramping and pulling. 

“Please! Please...” she choked out. 

He smirked. 

“My name, Hermione...” 

“Please!! Lord Voldemort.Please!!” she wailed. In her mind she screamed ‘stop! Stop... it hurts... please stop.’ 

The planar face smiled, satisfied and lowered her the perhaps two inches that made the difference between tolerable and intolerable pain. 

“Better... Now... to whom do you belong?” 

She bit her tongue. The fingers on her lower back stroked meaningfully. 

“I assure you - that pain was nothing in comparison to what you will feel if I hang you by your wrists now..” 

She blinked away the tears and whispered “you. I belong to you.” 

He smiled approvingly.   
“And what would you say if it were another asking that question?” 

She grit her teeth.   
“I....belong to...to...L-Lord Voldemort” she ground out.   
He kissed the corner of her mouth gently. 

“Very good, Hermione! I know how difficult that was for you, in light of your errant...views... I believe I may reward you for your effort if you are able to say it again - without gritting your teeth.”

She sighed and said it quietly, tonelessly. She’d already said it once. What difference did it make now?!   
It seemed to be enough. His expression was that of subdued triumph.   
The hand at her back shifted and he hissed something in parsel, his eyes narrowing nastily.   
She screamed as it seemed like he’d lit her back on fire.   
The hand at the base of her spine seemed to be sending crackling jolts into her. Was this the reward? 

“Yesss” he hissed softly, bending his head to kiss along her jaw. “A reward... I think we shall both find it... rewarding...” He kissed down to her neck and then trailed his tongue down it. She shivered helplessly and it made all her muscles twinge again. But it was different now. It hurt. It hurt a lot. But for some reason now it also felt kind of...good... when it hurt. 

She moved experimentally. The muscles in her abdomen and lower back twanged in sudden pain and she gasped because it felt... it felt... 

“Mmmm... I see you’ve determined the purpose of that particular spell.” He murmured against her neck and bit her sharply.   
She moaned, cutting herself off and biting her lips in horror. The chest above her shook slightly in quiet laughter. 

“Be a good girl, and perhaps I might whip you...” He whispered and nipped her earlobe. 

She tried to lie still. If she moved, she’d feel it again and...It wasn’t good.   
Well. It... kind of was good but it wasn’t good to find it good.   
This wasn’t a good thing.   
He might curse her again just to use the spell. 

He was nibbling his way down the side of her neck, gently... almost patiently. As if he knew how hard she was finding it to ignore the arousing sensation and wanted to see how long she would hold out. 

As it turned out – not very long. 

When he started to lick her breasts, she twitched and that set off a whole chain reaction of sharp delicious twinges through her muscles till she was panting and writhing in excitement. She was dimly aware of his dark delight as he watched her groan and stimulate herself with little bucking movements, arching her back. 

God... it was so...good. Like... scratching an itch in some sick way. She needed more! It wasn’t enough. She was moving more, to make the frissons of painful pleasure stronger but she needed... more... 

“Beg.” he instructed coldly. “You know what you want. I may give it to you if you beg nicely.” 

She whined in the back of her throat and whispered. “Please.” 

He snorted. “You call that begging? You can do better than that.” 

She curled and then stretched her legs, groaning as the amazing sensation seemed to make her pussy ache... her spine tingle...   
“Please...” what did he want?! He wanted his name before. Fine. Whatever. Just more!! He liked hurting people. It wasn’t as if it was going out of his way to just hurt her a little.   
“Please... Lord Voldemort” 

“My Lord” he corrected her smoothly.   
It constituted another little step in the direction she did not want to go but she was frustrated and needy and just in this particular second she didn’t bloody care. 

“My Lord then! Please!!” 

He looked undecided whether to credit her grudging use of the term. Leaning down he pressed her body flat with his own clothed one and held her still.   
She growled in frustration, trying to move. 

“Attitude, mudblood. Never for a moment forget that I can deliver more suffering than your mind...or body... can handle.”   
“Now... shall we try that appellation again?” 

She huffed frustrated. “I don’t want to call you that. I’m not a death eater. I don’t want to be one.” 

He snarled slightly. “And yet you will do so, because I demand it.” 

She scowled and clenched her eyes shut. “My Lord” she said unhappily.   
He made her repeat it. And then repeat it again. She was commanded to say it so often that the words started to lose all meaning, becoming simply sounds. She must have eventually satisfied whatever inflection he was looking for because his weight was removed without warning and then pain seared her entire body. She yowled and gasped ecstatically and then it became so much greater as her wrists were snapped together with some kind of spell, bound with a thin painful cord (some variant of the incarcerous) and dragged up, pulling her after them till she was hanging by them, kneeling in the centre of the bed.   
Her head fell back in excited overstimulation and she looked up at the cord binding her to the metal loop in the crossbeams of the bed.   
It did evoke so much more pain to be in this position. He hadn’t lied earlier.   
She panted and writhed against the binding that was just slightly too tight... too high... stretching her and straining her muscles so satisfyingly. 

“Beautiful...” he pronounced softly, from somewhere behind her. She tried to turn and gave up, bucking excitedly at the pain it caused. “Would you like to be whipped?” he enquired in a generous tone, as if offering her a particular treat. 

She nodded slowly, realising she would. 

Surreal. She could have sworn she would never actually find herself asking Lord Voldemort to whip her – wanting him to.   
His silence demanded the correct response. 

“Yes... please... My Lord” she hushed out circling her hips for the amazing feeling it caused in her back. 

He was suddenly pressed close behind her; his cheek against her own and his hand sliding down to tease her pussy. She moaned wantonly, loving it against her own will. He turned his head and bit her earlobe sharply, growling and it only made her wriggle on his fingers even more yelping in pleasure. A moment later he melted away again behind her, trailing damp fingers over her skin as he withdrew. 

“Very well...my lovely debauched pet. I will give you what you need.” 

 

There was a slithery sound and then he leaned forward and held a coiled leather horsewhip out in front of her so that she could see it. He let the loops fall, holding the handle and it made a leathery slithery sound as it uncoiled onto the bed, like the one she’d heard. 

She shivered in anticipation. 

How much would it hurt?! Was it possible for something to hurt too much right now? 

“Difficult to say. I believe not. This is a very dangerous spell. Salazar experimented with it extensively. Left to their own devices, those affected not infrequently ended up accidentally injuring themselves severely - some even killing themselves.”   
“That will not happen to you. I will determine the pain you shall receive.” 

There was a whistle, a crack and then a bright incandescent lightning bolt of pain lanced up her back. She cried out in shock.   
It burned a moment later and she groaned and writhed, trying to rub her thighs together to get friction where she needed it.

Another crack sounded and her arousal ramped up even higher. By the fifth one she was crying out in desperate lust and begging him to touch her.   
He ignored it. 

Searing slice after slice struck her in quick succession. She could barely breathe for the sensation and the blinding urgent need.   
She needed him to fuck her. She needed him inside her.   
How?! How to get him to stop... how to get him to come close and take her how she wanted to be taken.   
She scrambled through her lust addled mind for the words that he might like. 

He angled the next blow and the tongue of the whip licked around the side of her hip, catching the sensitive skin above her pubic mound. She gasped and tried to grind against air, ineffectually. Struggling at the bindings was no use. The next stroke wrapped itself around her thigh, cutting into the sensitive flesh on the inside. 

“Master!! I need you... please...” she wailed desperately. 

The next blow did not come.   
She whined aloud, her pussy was tingling and sucking in aching need. 

“What do you need, Hermione” the voice was close. He was right behind her. 

“I...I need you inside me... please...My Lord” she managed and tried to press herself back against him. She couldn’t reach him or he moved away. 

“Is that so...” he said softly.   
She yowled her assent, winding her hips and parting her thighs. If he could only...touch her... and then he did. A hot hard naked form pressed up against her back and arse. She cried out in relief. 

“Yes! Please My Lord! Now!! Need you... oh god...PLEASE...” 

His breath was hot against her neck as his hands slid around her. Fingernails scraping down her flesh deliciously as he reached down toward her thighs, gliding inward. Then, gripping her roughly he gapped her thighs further apart and lifted her slightly.   
She eagerly complied with his rough guiding hands and arched her back, pushing her buttocks back against him. A moment later he drove up and into her, spearing her and bottoming out in a painful wonderful way.   
She screamed in something that was both relief and heightened need, her hands above her head gripping the cords as her head fell back. His hands were on her hips and he was fucking her brutally and it was the best thing ever.   
She moved her hips in counterpoint, driving herself back onto him as far as she was able in her unbalanced position. He leaned forward and hissed next to her ear and she shuddered all over. Yes... she found she really did like that sound. It was so different to the few times she’d heard Harry do it. With Voldemort it sounded smooth, silky, dangerous and...Yes... sexy. It sounded bloody sexy when he spoke in parseltongue.

He lifted her and pulled her back, tilting her and holding her in place till she wrapped her legs around him. The tension in her muscles felt like tense vibrating strings connected to her clit.   
His movements slowed and became languid as he supported her there with only one hand, the other stroking lightly up her spine. “Lovely...” he murmured huskily. 

“Harder” she whimpered at his slow smooth movements. 

“You require more pain?” his voice was full of dark lust. 

“YES!!” she whined. “Please!! Please don’t stop!! I need... more!” 

His quick breaths caught for a moment and then he leaned in and licked a hot path up the side of her neck. She moaned low and rocked her hips against him. “Very well” he whispered by her ear. 

The hand at her back suddenly became so cold it burned sharply. She could feel it leaving raised weals in its wake and squealed and jerked at the satisfying feeling. it seemed to soothe the fire in her slightly even as it tingled pleasurably.   
“God...thats so good” she mumbled, her eyes closed in bliss as she writhed on his cock. He started to fuck her harder again, his fingers stroking over her skin, trailing over her stretched abdomen, up and over her breasts.   
When he pinched her nipple she screamed and felt herself tipping over unexpectedly into her climax. His low groan seemed to only increase the pleasure. She felt him still moving in her slowly as she spasmed.   
He only waited, circling his hips and sliding in and out languorously, until her excited cries stilled, before he resumed fucking her harder in short staccato slams, that stabbed her deep inside. 

Against her expectation the boneless inertia that overcame her in the wake of an orgasm was forced aside as he pushed her to excited need again; tipped her only minutes later over the edge again with deep plunging strokes. She collapsed down onto the bed as the cords binding her wrists were abruptly vanished. 

This angle seemed to give him even greater leverage to slam into her as her face lay down against the mattress and her arse was held raised by him. He leaned over her and drove her forward with the force of his thrusts.   
She could hear him panting softly and curled around to peer over her shoulder.   
His eyes were half lidded and he had an expression of intense satisfaction on his face as he fucked her. He looked...strangely appealing. His abdominal muscles were tight and bunched and the pale skin shimmered with a sheen of moisture.

As if he heard her thought – which he probably had – he stopped in his movements and withdrew, pushing her over till she lay on her back and then falling upon her like a hungry animal.   
He slotted back into her body automatically and curled his arms around her, one beneath her neck and the other in the small of her back. 

When he kissed her she responded immediately, kissing him back hungrily, wrapping her arms and legs around him and moving against the wonderful teasing strokes. “Mmmm” he growled into her mouth, and it managed to convey that he was pleased with her. 

She broke away panting and mindless in the face of the sensations her body was reporting and only dimly registered the word he breathed almost tenderly against her throat because it had taken on a visceral importance in her hindbrain. 

“Crucio...” 

The pain was unreal! She screamed and came so hard that she blacked out for a moment. It was as if the volume on her pleasure had been turned up to sonic boom levels. 

When she returned to herself he was kissing along her jaw gently and pressed a soft breathless kiss to her swollen lips.   
He had come. He was still inside her and she could feel the hard bar of him softening slowly.   
But even without that sensation, it was just as clear in the relaxation of the normally tense line of his body above her.   
She continued to catch her breath and curled around him again. The pain of moving was still arousing but now she was exhausted and it was terrible to feel her body tingling back into response helplessly. 

A hand stroked her hair away from her face. “If I remove it, you will be in greater pain than you were before. I do not know if you can withstand that at present.” 

She looked up into glimmering red garnets that shifted, examining her speculatively. She had no idea what she wanted. She was just...tired... It didn’t make any sense to speculate. He would do whatever he liked. He probably knew best at this point anyway.   
She had no idea how this spell worked and little experience with cruciatus after-effects.   
Internally she gave herself up to his will. 

A slow lazy smile broke out on the pale flattened face. “Finally you are displaying the correct attitude, Hermione.” He murmured against her cheek. 

He withdrew with effortless strength she herself did not feel at present and moved off gracefully, still naked, toward the bookcases.   
She thought he was going to retrieve a tome by hand for her at first but as he drew near he waved a hand and the bookcase slid forward and to the side, revealing what seemed to be a small store room. He strode in and turned a sharp right angle disappearing around a corner. 

There were a few soft clinks and then he was returning. He had another purple phial in his white slender-fingered hand. 

She could not help but look at his body, take in the entire view of Lord Voldemort, unashamedly naked and, with the exception of his facial features and general hairlessness, beautifully formed.   
His thighs were long, the lean hard muscle clearly defined.   
Halfway back to the bed he stopped in place, smirking and turned on the spot, as if displaying himself for her viewing pleasure. 

She hadn’t really had the opportunity to study him from behind, she realised. He was...peculiarly... more attractive from this side. One could forget the unsettling aspects of his face.   
His back was broad and the entire visage from head to toe was toned and taut. ...he...he had quite a nice backside, she conceded. If you were into that kind of thing... mens bum’s and all.   
He turned back again and walked back to the bed, still wearing the small pleased smirk. 

Sitting down beside her he stroked a fingertip down her body, noting her helpless reaction and the quickening of her breath. 

“Captivating... I am exceedingly pleased with you, Hermione. For that reason I will reward you.” 

He removed the tiny glass stopper in the phial and brought it to her lips, tilting it when she was ready. She swallowed the chalky sour mouthful eagerly, as if it were mother’s milk.   
His fingers stroked her face again lightly.   
“Please could I have some water” she asked hopefully. He had allowed her to have water last time she had been given the potion. 

He seemed to consider it and then shook his head slowly. “No. This time I wish you to absorb the potion undiluted, my dear. Don’t fret. You will not be awake to feel thirst, and I will have the house-elves hydrate you in an hour or so. You will be refreshed when you wake.” 

She accepted this without demur. Sleep would be good. He was ...kind... to let her sleep now...so that she wouldn’t feel that horrible aching pain again.   
“Thank you... My Lord” she said solemnly. He smiled again and leaned over her, kissing her lips gently. She felt his hand brush her forehead and then sleep descended like a thick velvet blanket.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love receiving comments/reviews and will always respond to them

She woke on the hard metal floor of the cage, disorientated. 

She had been dreaming about Harry. He was calling her name. 

The events of the last night (at least.. she assumed it was last night) rolled back through her mind with terrible clarity. 

Malfoy had cursed her. Pain... horrible unbearable pain... and then Voldemort had fucked her again with some kind of spell that made the pain feel arousing.   
She’d...she’d called him her Lord. 

God. She’d betrayed everyone. It was one thing to give up and let the Dark Lord sleep with her since he was more than willing to torture people for a thought he disliked... but it was something else to use that phrase.   
Hell... she’d called him master at some point, hadn’t she?! 

She moved experimentally and was relieved to discover it didn’t hurt at all. The potion was obviously more effective if it wasn’t diluted. She wondered absently whether he’d let her dilute it because he intended to use the spell on her...or perhaps because he found it useful to have her pain as leverage to force her to say his name.   
He’d moved her effectively from avoiding any version of address for him to referring to him as his bloody death eaters did. 

Sitting up gingerly, she noted that she was wearing a white dress. She’d never been dressed in white before. It was a soft satin thing that reached her mid thighs. A simple cut, almost reminiscent of lingerie; with a sweetheart neckline and a high waist, flaring out at the bottom.   
She tugged it down ineffectually. It was cold. It seemed she had been dressed in matching satin panties today. That was something at least. Usually the elves didn’t bother with underwear.

Looking around the empty room she wondered what had woken her. There had been something. A noise... or... she wasn’t sure.   
An area of space shimmered suddenly next to the cage, the background behind it wavering as if in a heat haze.   
She jerked back as if stung, crawling frantically to the other side of the cage. 

Someone was here! 

That spell was very distinctive. Someone was disillusioned and standing there watching her and they had just moved slightly. 

“Shhhhh” a disembodied voice cautioned her. 

“Who are you?!” she whispered at it, her mind racing through the possibilities. She refused to consider any of the ones she wanted most.   
It wasn’t Harry. Harry wouldn’t be disillusioned for a start – he had an invisibility cloak that was far more effective and if he was here, he’d be looking for Voldemort and not her. 

She felt a silencing spell settle over her and then the door clicked softly. The blurry heat haze in the air moved, pulling it open as she started to panic. Whoever it was hadn’t identified themselves and they didn’t want her alerting anyone she was here – they obviously didn’t trust her to remain silent if she knew who they were. This wasn’t good. 

The shimmer moved to the open door and she felt some kind of invisible bonds latch on around her wrists and begin tugging her toward the opening. Screaming wasn’t going to help but she struggled all the way as she was pulled out of the cage with distressing inevitability. 

The tall figure backed off as she reached the door and continued to pull her, fighting, away from the cage, till she was clear of it by a couple of metres.   
It started to approach her then and she backed off rapidly. She didn’t know who this was. It could be a death eater! She couldn’t really see who it could be but a death eater.

Where was Voldemort, she demanded internally. He said he would protect her. He said-... 

The figure moved more quickly and grabbed her around the arm, dragging her back. She fought, scratching at the invisible hand and collected a slap across the face for it. “Cut it out” a familiar voice growled.   
Gasping silently in shock she realised who her assailant (rescuer?) was.   
Unexpectedly then, the tall figure swore under its breath and shimmered into view. 

Professor Snape’s expression was that of a man carrying a shipment of narcotics who had just been pulled over by the police. “Good evening, My Lord” he muttered. 

She jolted and looked around in surprise. The Dark Lord was lounging on his throne as if he had been there for some time. She wondered whether he had. He might have been under a notice me not or something, she supposed. 

“I must say..I am.. disappointed.. Severus. I had hoped my suspicions were unfounded. Do not further insult me with fabricated excuses. On your knees, if you wish to continue breathing.” 

Hermione looked up at the black eyes feeling torn. He had probably been trying to rescue her. If she hadn’t fought, would she be in Order headquarters by now?   
Now professor Snape was in deep trouble. He would probably be killed, no matter what Voldemort seemed to imply regarding his cooperation.   
His eyes showed that he knew it too.   
He hesitated for a half second and then dragged her, off balance, against him, spinning and placing his wand to her neck. 

Fuck.   
That wasn’t what she had expected.   
She gulped. Professor Snape wouldn’t ..actually.. harm her.. surely? 

Lord Voldemort was on his feet and his face was like thunder, the red eyes almost glowing with rage. 

“Lower.. the wards..” professor Snape demanded in a low threatening voice. 

Voldemort’s eyes flicked between Snape’s and her own face. “You imagine that threatening the life of a Mudblood will save you?” He hissed icily, gliding closer. 

Professor Snape moved his wand a bare inch and Hermione felt a sharp cold sensation slice the skin of her neck, followed by a warm liquid spill in a trail downward.

Voldemort’s hiss sounded like the parseltongue equivalent of swearing. 

“Yes...” professor Snape responded with a faint smug tone in his voice. “It appears that you do not wish the life of a...muggleborn...threatened. Release us or we both die.” 

Hermione frowned. She realised suddenly that there was a part of her that didn’t actually want to be rescued – didn’t want to go back to the order, to her supposed friends.   
There was a part of her that wanted to stay here with the interesting psychopath who had offered to teach her dark magic and had forced her to feel pleasure beyond anything she had ever experienced before.   
That small part of her was considering whether she might be able to drive her fist back into professor Snape’s balls and get away.

She watched as a slow pleased smirk spread over the Dark Lord’s serpentine face even as he raised his pale twisted yew wand at them both.   
“Then you both die” he pronounced softly.

That was sufficient motivation. Her fist moved almost of its own accord and the choked whimper that the large man behind her emitted as she twisted out of his grip was testament to how little he had expected her to strike out at him.   
She practically flew to Voldemort and was immediately enfolded in the arm that did not hold a wand on Professor Snape. “Good girl” he commended her softly and pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

She glanced over her shoulder at the appalled incredulous expression on the potion master’s face. Revulsion was plainly visible. She turned her face back to the Dark Lord feeling wretchedly guilty and sick at her own actions. His eyes glinted warningly at her and then he looked back toward professor Snape. 

“As you see, Severus – she will neither leave nor die. She is mine. You however wi-“ 

Professor Snape interrupted him “Hermione Granger would never willingly join you. She is neither foolish nor corrupt enough to succumb to your lures. Do not give up, Miss Granger. Potter will come. The Dark Lord will be defeated. I ...regret...that I waited so long to try to remove you from this place.” 

She didn’t turn, couldn’t face him after what she’d done. He’d...see it...in her eyes if she looked at him now. 

“I see that I am no longer your Lord, Severus... if indeed I ever was.” Lord Voldemort said coldly.   
“It matters not. You shall give up all your secrets in time...” 

There was a sound of scrabbling and then professor Snape cried out in frustrated despair. Voldemort lifted his hand briefly from her back and when he replaced it, she could feel it was holding professor Snape’s wand. He pulled her closer and stroked down her back absently with the wand. 

She looked up to his face and saw the smug triumphant expression as he was about to speak transform suddenly into a dismayed, furious one, even as there was a thump behind her. 

“NO!!” he cried angrily, releasing her and dashing to the side of the man now collapsed on the floor twitching. “No! You shan’t escape me that easily” he muttered absently, casting spell after spell upon the obviously dying man.   
Hermione padded over tentatively and knelt down beside professor Snape’s side. He was a potions master and a double agent... of course he’d have some kind of suicide pill or something for the event that things went pear shaped. He knew too much to risk it all being discovered by Voldemort.   
She felt a sudden burning pain of admiration for the dour potions master, who had taken all the pain and struggle in his stride... had even taken his own death as a matter of course. 

Voldemort was cursing and seemed to be growing exasperated, as the spasms and shaking of the potions master’s body slowly began to subside.   
“No!! DAMN HIM!!” He cried and spun, stalking away, fuming.   
She wondered whether this was her fault. If she hadn’t freed herself from him and gone to Voldemort, would the Dark Lord really have killed them? Might he have let them both go?   
Had she condemned professor Snape to death by her actions? 

“Silence” Voldemort hissed, although she hadn’t spoken aloud. 

He stood, looking extremely nonplussed, his gaze upon the body that had been professor Snape. 

She tried to not think. It was more difficult than ever. She’d never understood that whole ‘clear your mind’ rubbish that her meditation teacher had blathered on about. In the end she’d decided that people who practiced meditation and yoga were the muggle world’s equivalent of professor Trelawney.   
There was a tiny snort from the serpentine figure who was tapping his wand against his thigh irritatedly. Finally he seemed to half sigh.

“What is done is done” he pronounced softly. “A foolish waste in the end. I would have preferred not to kill Severus. He was so very useful. He would have been useful again in the future...in time. Still... it cannot be helped now. It is easier to train a new potions master than to attempt to reclaim this one now.” 

She frowned, slightly bemused. She tended to think of Lord Voldemort as anything but stupid. Professor Snape was a double agent. He was working against him.   
This was a man who killed people who sneezed at the wrong moment and he would have spared a traitor?. 

“Come here” the high strange voice commanded softly. 

She complied with less hesitation than she would ever have imagined possible.   
She was drawn closer with the pale left hand that held professor Snape's long black wand. 

“Take it” Voldemort instructed, holding the wand to her. 

Her eyes bugged and slid up to the red slitted orbs that were not looking at her. The Dark Lord was offering her a wand. The next conclusions ambled up in her mind unhesitatingly. He was confident she wouldn’t use it against him. ...He knew that even with a wand... even if it happened to obey her – which it probably wouldn’t - she would stand no chance if she chose to try to attack him.   
..He considered her intelligent enough to realise that and thus offered her the wand easily. 

She reached out and gingerly took it. 

It didn’t spray sparks of joy at her hand and in fact it felt heavy and dull, like an ordinary stick. 

“Cast lumos” the high airy voice commanded. 

She tried. The wand did comply to a very minor extent. It produced a faint twinkle of blue at the very tip which petered out after a second. She found herself inexplicably proud that she’d produced any magic with professor Snape’s wand. 

Voldemort pulled a discontented face. “Another waste then. Your wands share the same core. Severus’ wand was well suited to dark curses. It would have been a desirable match...   
...no matter.”   
He snatched the wand back and slipped it into the pocket of his robes, where it did not even cause the silky material to bulge.   
Then he turned to her and offered a white slender hand, his head slightly tilted.

She looked at it with a hollow little feeling.   
Taking Voldemort’s hand was no more than she’d done already ten times over. It just felt...different... now. Now that professor Snape was lying on the floor dead – possibly due to her. 

She stepped closer and placed her small hand in the larger one – the hand that was infinitely more graceful than her own. Voldemort smiled approvingly, although she thought there was a faint calculating twist to it.   
He gestured absently at the potion master’s body with his other hand and it vanished.   
A moment later he had apparated them into his room once again. 

 

“I was working before Severus decided to ...drop in. As I had reached a rather promising stage in my calculations, I will continue with that now.” 

She assured herself that she was relieved that he wasn’t going to sleep with her now and caught the way his smirk widened slightly.   
“Perhaps later. For the moment I wish you to continue reading in the Montmorrei text. I will perhaps discuss it with you when my own progress allows a pause.” He summoned the dark runic text and passed it to her, turning away immediately and gliding to the paper strewn desk and seating himself. 

She stood, surprised, the book heavy in her hands. It was a strange feeling to be allowed to be here while Lord Voldemort worked on...something...anything. To be simply invited into his presence to read by herself.   
She wondered what he was doing. It seemed quite complex, to judge by the texts and papers around him. Perhaps something where he had to cross reference or translate? She wished she had enough courage to creep over and look. 

“No. Go and sit down and read your book. This material is too advanced for you. Do not distract me or you’ll go back into your cage for the evening.” 

She jolted and turned away immediately, clutching the book to her chest and moving to the bed. She found the end of the chapter she had been up to when he had stopped her last time, stating that it was late and time for her to return to the cage.   
He’d been a bit...cool... that night... after she’d upset him, or at least she thought she might have upset him. But still, she thought he had been pleased when she had shown that she understood the runic text. She began to read, prodding her brain into action to decipher the ancient language she hadn’t had to work in much for the last year.

 

Voldemort continued working even as she finished the text. She didn’t want to bother him.   
He looked avidly absorbed and somehow distant, as if his mind were far away.   
It was a look she seldom saw on him in the great hall.   
Somehow it gave the impression that his mind was some kind of vast machine with infinitely intricate cogs and springs that was whirring at breakneck speed.   
It was...well... ok... it was just a little bit appealing. She hadn’t had the opportunity to be around many truly gifted witches or wizards as they worked on their own private research. 

Inspiration seemed to strike him and he bent forward again, writing furiously, the long black quill in his pale fingers almost a blur with the need to pin the thoughts down before they escaped.   
Again, she wondered what kind of thing would fascinate Voldemort to that extent.   
Was it something to do with beating Harry and the order? 

As if she had spoken aloud his brow quirked in irritation and he waved a hand at the bookshelves, another book floating out and over toward her. It was bound in black tatty leather and looked well read. She caught it gently and opened it.   
Although he had not spoken, or even turned, it was obvious what his comment would have been. ‘Read that and stop being a distraction.’ She complied willingly. 

The book was a compendium of dark hexes. Last year she probably wouldn’t have even been willing to touch it. Almost all of the curses within were horrible. She even found the vomiting sewing needles one. Horrible or not she read it and made a valiant effort to learn. 

She was finished with the second book and lying on her back staring up at the ceiling, thinking over what she’d read and trying not to be ‘distracting’ when he stirred. The way he sat back with a slightly troubled look on the pale flat face suggested he had reached some kind of impasse.   
He folded one arm around himself, balancing the other upon it and stroking what would have been the bridge of his nose with the feather tip of the long quill absently. 

It was...peculiar... she thought. She could imagine it must be some kind of habit he picked up from his youth.   
His eyes were distant as if he were looking through reality at whatever problem it was he was working upon.   
The blood red eyes blinked in frustration.   
Yes... definitely some kind of problem had cropped up in what he was working on. The curiosity was almost painful. She was always the one other people came to when they were stuck on something. She always figured out a solution, even if it wasn’t always conventional.

Voldemort seemed to snort slightly, his face tightening. She continued to watch him, the expressions passing over his face like storm clouds. Finally he tossed down the quill in irritation and rose, turning and stalking over to the bed swiftly, his movements betraying the internal agitation he was apparently feeling. 

She gasped as her clothing was abruptly vanished and then he practically fell upon her like a thing possessed. The hard warm body pressed her down and he gripped and raised one of her legs before he impaled her in one rough motion, without warning or foreplay.   
It made her yelp, but not because it had hurt exactly.   
No... It seemed she was already quite wet. Strangely enough. She hadn’t even noticed.   
She certainly hadn’t been feeling aroused.   
He fucked her hot and hard, as if working off his own frustration on her, driving her to a swift dizzying orgasm. He spilled himself with a low growl only moments after she had shattered in climax. 

There was no affectionate kissing or embracing tonight. After he had emptied himself, he withdrew immediately, scourgifying them both and getting up, pacing away with a dark expression in his crimson gaze. 

He stopped by his desk and ran a hand over the back of the rather regal chair he employed. Then shaking his head slightly he turned back. 

“I am confident that you have comprehended the Montmorrei runic work. You grasped the first half adequately. You will show me what you have retained from Scabbors compendium I think.” 

She frowned, confused. He gestured absently and a silky sheath materialised, enfolding his body in a new flowing robe. Turning he opened and entered the same store room she had seen him go into the last time she was in this room. When he returned he was holding something very familiar. Something that made her heart beat rapidly in longing. 

“You have a rather insipid wand, you know” he observed coldly. 

It was all she could do to remain where she was and not leap up and grab for it.   
Was he really going to let her have it back?! Or was this just a cruel tease. She wanted it back so badly. It had been months since she had had access to her magic. The hunger for it was desperate. 

He read it clearly on her too. “Come.” He said quietly.   
She was on her feet and standing before him in half a second, nakedness not even rating a mention on her internal system of priorities.   
He tilted his head slightly and appeared to be considering her form. When he clothed her magically it was not in the silky white sheath she had worn before, but in a soft black lambs wool robe... not entirely unlike his own in form, albeit much simpler. It reached down to her feet and she revelled in the warmth it offered in the cold...wherever this place was...castle? manor? 

He stepped closer and reached around her. She thought for a moment he was going to embrace her but then he raised his arms and lifted a generous hood up over her head. It fell deep, throwing her face into shadow. 

“Prove that you are worthy of your wand, Hermione. Show me what you have learned. Disappoint me and you will never see it again.” 

While she was digesting this command slash threat he raised a hand and gripped her upper arm apparating at once. 

 

 

The apparition spat them out in a dark room. Completely dark, not just shadowy and sombre like the Dark Lord’s rooms. She felt a tingle of fear race up her spine briefly and then a torch lit, sputtering into life with a blue and yellow flame. 

The room it exposed was almost better off unlit. 

This was obviously somewhere in the dungeons of the Dark Lord’s domain.   
A selection of pitifully emaciated and beaten figures huddled near the walls, shaking. Several had started to sob, seeing who had descended into their midst.   
The Dark Lord was scrutinising them all as if inspecting beef. 

She knew exactly what he was expecting her to do to ‘earn’ her wand now but she wasn’t sure whether she could do it. She didn’t need her wand. It was...wrong to do this. These people were probably just innocent victims.

“You” he selected, pointing at a man in torn rags. 

He was perhaps in his late thirties and had a scraggly yellow mess of facial hair. He reminded Hermione of a castaway on an island. All wild eyes and desperation.   
At the Dark Lord’s pronouncement he burst into messy snotty tears and started begging unintelligibly. He was silenced and a moment later his eyes glazed over before he stood up robotically and faced them both. 

The tall serpentine man controlling him turned to her then, his eyes dark and bloody in the flickering light.   
“Show me the spells.. Show me what you have learned. Refuse and I shall snap your wand.” 

She swallowed in visceral aversion at the idea of her wand being snapped. It was horrible. The worst thing you could do. Worse than breaking her bones.   
She looked back at the man standing zombie-like at attention. He seemed as content as could be, as if he weren’t about to be cursed seven ways from Sunday. 

The Dark Lord offered her her wand. It was a caramel brown streak on his snow white palm. She took it carefully and the warm rush of energy that shot up her arm thrilled her.   
It was happy to see her too. 

The Dark Lord had stepped away but she could feel the weight of his eyes examining her, judging her...almost grading her. She stood in the centre of the room and tried to force her stomach to stop revolving at the thought of cursing some unknown man with the most horrible curses she knew. 

Shaking, she raised her wand...


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reviews increase update frequency and will receive a response

It was many hours later that she sat in her cage once again reflecting somewhat erratically on the events of the night. 

She kept coming back to the Muggle Christian notion of the devil and damnation and how the former would bring one to the latter by a process of temptations and small trials.   
She felt like someone who had tripped over the precipice and was falling down toward the fiery pit. 

The screams...   
They still echoed in her ears.  
That man hadn’t done anything to deserve the pain and suffering she’d brought him.   
She thought he might have even been a muggle. ..The panic..he’d been in.

She hadn’t wanted to. But she couldn’t let her wand be snapped. It was her wand. It was all she really had left!  
She should have let him snap it. She hadn’t used it in.. however many months she’d been here..

The expression on the rotted, ruined face as she’d cast the pliatha-croris hex – page forty two of the spell compendium - and the man had been forced to...expel..frozen shards of his own urine..   
There had been blood. A lot of it! The book hadn’t mentioned there would be but she supposed it was only logical.   
He’d screamed so much that her ears had hurt.

She’d.. silenced him..

Her fingers picked compulsively at the hem of the wretched red silk dress Voldemort had transfigured from her robes before he locked her away again. 

He had been pleased.   
Pleased with the hex... and even more with her blithe silencing of the man. 

She’d remembered all the hexes. The temptation to lie and say she couldn’t remember any more had been there but it was very hard to lie to someone who could hear your thoughts. 

Most of the spells’ effects had been horrible.. she’d wanted to be sick. 

She’d ...killed... the poor man in the end. She hadn’t meant to. The praevextra hex had thickened his blood to the consistency of porridge and he’d just slumped like a dropped marionette.   
She should have realised that the hex would be deadly. After all... the heart... the brain... but she’d just been going through the hexes one after another and by the time she got to it she hadn’t really thought about it.   
Voldemort had been over the bloody moon. 

And afterward he’d taken her back to his room and they’d had sex again... or rather... he’d fucked her, she supposed. He’d made her come three times... made her scream in pleasure. It had felt...so...good. Why did it feel so good?! It shouldn’t feel like that. He was evil. 

It was so wrong. Everything was so wrong.   
She had killed someone so that she could keep her stupid wand and continue to learn dark magic from the monster that was destroying the wizarding world.   
If there was a devil, she had well and truly sold her soul. This was all so wrong. 

 

 

The morning after she had killed, she had decided that she wasn’t going to do any of this anymore. She shouldn’t have done anything in the first place. When he gave her the choice to have a bath she should have said NO.  
Actually when she first woke up in the cage she should have spit in his eye and dared him to kill her.   
She wasn’t going to learn dark magic and she wasn’t going to hurt anyone and she really.. definitely.. wasn’t going to think about Lord Voldemort at all in any way anymore. He was an evil..murdering..monster...  
She would be tainted forever for having touched him...   
Her only comfort was that he had apparently not let anyone know about it. If Harry would come and kill him and save her then maybe.. just maybe... she could lie. Obliviate herself.. pretend it never happened. She could go on with her life and just work hard to atone for the things she did to that poor man.

The day after it had happened, she was absolutely certain that she would submit to the cruciatus, go without food and water or waste away in endless ignored tedium before she would ever hurt anyone again like she’d hurt the poor man last night.  
She didn’t want this. If only he had left her alone. The cage was ...safe... Empty but safe.

He left her alone. 

It was inexplicable. If he’d sensed her internal struggle, surely he should have been only too quick to punish her. .   
But he hadn’t. It was as if none of it had happened at all. As if she’d imagined it all. 

He would sit on his throne.. hold meetings.. hear briefings.. torture.. kill.. all quite routine things.. but she never had the feeling that he was paying attention to her.   
It was as if she had ceased to exist again. 

And at first that was good. She was relieved.   
She started to turn away when people were being cursed.. she would cover her ears and close her eyes when she knew someone was about to be killed.   
She started to feel like she was behaving like a real human being again.  
She slept. She ate and drank and she daydreamed about Harry one day coming and rescuing her.   
Even Voldemort had said that one day he would come.

And the days went by.

 

 

He hadn’t turned his head once to look at her in the cage since he had placed her back inside it in that red dress. 

But that was fine.. that was ideal. That was what she wanted. 

Lucius Malfoy had enquired after Professor Snape. He had been informed that the traitor had been killed.   
Hermione had curled up with her legs against her chest and allowed herself to really feel the awful guilt - Guilt she had deserved at the time but had suppressed because he had demanded it of her.   
Voldemort had then lured the elder Malfoy into a question to which any possible response could be construed as an insult, and had cursed him bloody. 

She wondered whether she was to blame and resolved to try to think about neutral things, even as she’d condemned the evil little hope that he had reacted in that way because of her thoughts. 

 

An ...unknown multitude...of days had gone by before she had realised that she wanted to speak. She wanted to talk to someone. Him. Anyone. She missed it.   
It was peculiar. She’d gone for months without it and now.. after only.. what must have been merely a week or two, (perhaps three or....well, she couldn’t really be sure).. she needed it more than she had in the beginning.   
No one was ever in the room unless he was in the room and it was impossible to have a conversation with anyone else while he was in the room.

She hated the way her body woke her as soon as he entered.   
She would pretend to sleep, purely in order to prevent herself from sitting up and helplessly devoting her attention to him and whatever horrible things he happened to be doing today.   
She didn’t want him to show her attention again. She hadn’t liked what he’d done to her at all. 

 

There had been strawberries that morning.   
All the days since..it..had happened there had been rather plain fare.. bread.. broth..stew, rice...A small portion of something nourishing but uninspiring, with a goblet of water at the side.   
When she had woken on this day there had been strawberries with vanilla cream waiting.   
Her goblet had been full of sweet sparkling wine. She’d been so surprised when she’d sipped it that she almost spat it out. 

The dress she was wearing was soft, pale-green velvet. 

...She had shoes..

The shoes had bothered her. If she was wearing shoes, it was possible that she might be expected to leave the cage.   
She didn’t want to leave the cage.  
A traitorous little sigh inside disagreed. 

She tried to tell herself that she wasn’t waiting for him, but it was blatantly untrue. She was impatiently...waiting for the soft crack of his apparition.. 

All day (or was it night?) waiting.

No one came. The room remained empty. 

After a long time – probably a few hours, a plate of sliced turkey and goose with roasted vegetables and a touch of sauce arrived.   
She had never received more than one meal a day before.  
She received, with the plate, two goblets. One held freshly pressed elderflower cordial and the other mulled wine.  
And then she was certain that it was Christmas.

If it was Christmas then it had been almost a year. 

She had cried for a while 

He didn’t come.  
She had thought he must.. She had been given shoes after all.. but no one came. The room remained dim and still and eventually she had fallen asleep.

The next time she woke it had been him apparating in. 

He ignored her.   
The hours went by.. business as usual for him.

 

 

By the fourth (Fifth?) time she’d woken up after ‘Christmas’ she had reached the end of her wits.

She couldn’t go back to how things had been before. It was so much worse now.. If this was how it was going to be from now on.. well it just couldn’t be. She couldn’t take this anymore.  
She’d dreamed of him again last night..   
He’d been holding her and whispering softly to her and then he’d given her a book. When she’d opened it, it had been blank. She’d looked up, confused, wanting to ask about it and found that she was in the ruined arms of the muggle she’d killed. He was an inferius! He’d clamped his arms around her and leaned forward with dead eyes and wide black gaping rotten-toothed mouth to bite her.   
She’d screamed and panicked, struggling, and then he’d disintegrated into ash and Voldemort’s arms had been around her again, soothing, calming her.   
He’d kissed her forehead and told her that he would look after her. All she had to do was obey. It was very simple.   
His arms had been warm and just as the dream was fading she’d realised that she wanted him to kiss her again.

And after she’d woken up more in the vast dim room, in a dress that seemed to be made of artfully layered silvery lace, she realised that she wished she could have stayed in the dream.   
It had been..better.. - to be held.. kissed... touched... spoken to..   
It was horrible with the muggle..but... but this was horrible too. This silence. This empty room.. this cage.

She was sure his obliviousness was a kind of punishment.   
She’d..refused him..denied him.. after he’d been so pleased with her and rewarded her.. after he’d willingly allowed her to learn whatever she had requested.   
She had asked to learn the dark arts!  
And.. yes.. Ok.. he was a monster.   
He was evil. And she was probably damned if there was something like the muggle idea of hell.  
But he was also clever.. and interesting.. frightening certainly.. but sometimes he touched her gently. He always ensured she found pleasure in his bed.  
and well... he was the entire world. Nothing else really existed here except him.

 

 

She was sitting at the side of the cage against the bars when he apparated in. He was all chilly gravitas and preoccupation.   
But no one else had arrived yet. Perhaps.. if no one else was here..  
She tried to think consciously at him, pleading for his attention.. for him to look at her.   
To say he ignored her would be attributing more intent and attention than he demonstrated. He did not even seem aware of her as he lounged in the throne impatiently. 

“Please...” she whispered.   
“Please.. I’m sorry.”

At that, his eyes had narrowed slightly but no further reaction had been apparent. 

A minute later one of his ministry-planted apparatchiks had cracked into the room.   
The day had been dull.. None of the news was particularly interesting.   
Apparently a new head had been appointed to the auror division, who had expressed the intent to clean up corruption within the ranks, however not much was known about the man yet. 

After that there was a financial briefing of sorts. Patrons and investors from within the United Kingdom and further abroad.   
Voldemort looked bored and bordering on dangerously irritated. He hadn’t cursed anyone yet today.   
She couldn’t think of anything he might find amusing. She tried to.. but she was too preoccupied with wishing that the people in the room would go away and leave her with him and that he would notice her again.  
They didn’t, although the rather dull looking man, who she gathered was a wizarding accountant of sorts, looked at her curiously. She wasn’t normally this close to the filigree ...or this uptight and desperate for attention.   
Voldemort sent them away again as soon as the last man had presented his recommendations. 

He had stood and was turning as if to apparate away when she cried out to him in panic.

“WAIT!!!”   
“PLEASE!!.. PLEASE... DON’T GO!!” 

“...please... “

He still hesitated.   
It wasn’t enough. 

“...Please...Master...”

He still didn’t turn but there was a soft click.   
She pushed at the cage door that had unlocked and it swung open.   
Her hesitation was only momentary but she heard him sniff angrily and the door started to close again. She whimpered and leapt out through the gap, skittering over to him hurriedly. 

He was tall.. so tall. She’d almost forgotten how tall he was. He was even taller when she’d dropped down to her knees desperately hoping that this was what he wanted.   
Now he turned. Red eyes pinned her in icy disdain.

“Get up.”   
His voice was cold, as if he were speaking to a failed death eater. Or worse. It was very nearly exactly the voice that he always reserved for Draco Malfoy.   
She climbed to her feet quickly. “I’m sorry!” she whispered.

“Words.. These are empty words. Do you comprehend the reason for my infuriation with you?!”

She wanted to nod; wanted to say that she did – it was because he’d been ..good to her.. and she’d thrown it back at him.  
His thin lips twisted into a slight sneer.  
“Do not delude yourself into thinking that I could be..personally offended.. by anything you might say or do, little mudblood. It merely irritated me to have wasted my own time on your self-professed desire to learn. I might better have spent the energy on other things.” 

She shook her head and looked down.  
“Maybe I’m not really suited to the dark arts..” she mumbled. “I.. I don’t remember why I even wanted to learn those spells.”

His eyes narrowed again and he looked away.   
“You are...pitiful. A witch who could be strong but chooses to be weak..chooses to be a child. You performed admirably...and then you ruined all you had achieved when you determined you would wallow in self recrimination and guilt. You are still indulging in that repulsive behaviour... I will not subject myself further to your insipid begging and excuses. Return to your cage” 

Hermione’s eyes widened in horror and she shook her head   
“No!! No!! I’ll be better! I’ll change! Don’t send me away! Please! I’ll.. I’ll learn whatever you want me to learn. I’ll..”  
She swallowed.  
“I’ll try to do what you ask . I’ll try not to feel guilty. Please don’t leave me alone in the cage anymore!!”

Voldemort looked at her sceptically.   
“More words. If you are determined, you will show me your resolve.   
I wish to see how many curses you have retained since last using them.”

She couldn’t help but flinch. Somehow she had known that that was what it would come down to. All the same it was still terrible to realise what he was going to demand of her if she wanted to leave the cage again.   
She knew it was wrong to even consider it.. but she so urgently wanted to leave the little box again.. to exist again. 

She’d sworn to herself she’d never ..hurt..someone again. She avoided that other word.. the more..permanent.. thing she had done to the muggle

The Dark Lord’s mouth twisted in a sneer of disgust. “As I said. Weak.”  
“Return to your cage little girl or I shall toss you in, myself. My time is too precious to waste on this foolishness.”

Merlin help her but even the way he was looking at her now was better than being entirely ignored.   
Any small part of his attention.. even negative attention.. was better that that thin bare-existence behind a silvery lattice.

“I’ll do it” she whispered. 

He looked sceptical again even as his sneer faded slightly. “I advise you to be certain. If you oblige me to waste further time on your self-pity and melodramatic snivelling, I shall place your cage in an empty room and you will no longer be permitted even to watch.. You will spend the remainder of your time in constant light and unbroken silence.”

The horror of that possibility shook her. For a moment she considered whether it might not be better to crawl back to the cage rather than risk that.   
If she couldn’t do it? If she couldn’t hex someone.. or if she couldn’t remember the hexes? Would he do it?  
The hard ruby glint of his eyes and the disdainful expression assured her that he would. He would leave her to go mad in the quiet by herself..   
She swallowed thickly.   
She couldn’t continue this way in the cage either though. She couldn’t! Each day it felt like something of her drifted away more and more.   
She’d been alive for a while. When he’d spoken with her.. when he’d allowed her to feel things.. He’d offered her..books... her wand...  
...his body

“Whatever you want. Just..don’t ignore me again” she mumbled. 

He sniffed dubiously, glittering eyes studying her... Then his pale hand reached for her and gripped her upper arm tightly before he apparated them both away.

 

 

The sensation that she hadn’t felt in a while and had never liked to begin with left her dizzy and reeling. He had let her go as soon as they arrived in the dark dingy room and she swayed on her feet, just managing to find her balance and right herself before she would have folded to the ground.   
She looked up reluctantly, unsurprised at the bare stone walls and dim torchlight. Somewhere there would be muggles cowering..

This time, however, it wasn’t a random innocent muggle she found herself faced with. There was only one occupant of the small cell.   
She could only stand and gape at the terribly familiar face. 

Lavender was pressed into the corner of the cell shaking and sobbing.   
She hadn’t even looked at Hermione, standing in her silvery lace gown; she was so focussed on the gestalt at her side. Voldemort could loom frighteningly without even trying. 

Hermione stared at the girl, she had never particularly liked, in this bizarrely unfamiliar context. 

Lavender was wearing the remains of her school uniform. The blouse was greying and filthy. There were brown stains on the skirt which might have been blood, Hermione thought. Her hair was ragged and she was much thinner than she had been. Her clothing did not hang on her however, so Hermione presumed she must have arrived that way and wondered whether the stress of the war had upset her appetite or whether it was intentional. The girl had always been a little...curvy... in the past.   
She’d thought some quite disparaging thoughts about her when she was draped all over Ron sucking his face during fifth year.   
That thought almost made her smile. Oh yes... back when she had found Ron a bit cute...kind of attractive. 

“Do not try my patience..” the Dark Lord muttered in the tone she recognised as one of extremely temporary restraint.   
“Begin at the beginning. Omit the Praevextra.”   
He reached into his robe and withdrew - wonder of wonders – her wand, offering it to her with a long even stare of warning.

She took it and stroked her fingertips over it and that was when Lav Lav regained enough presence of mind to realise that there was someone else in the room besides Lord Voldemort.

“Hermione?!!” she squeaked, horrified.

Hermione stiffened a little, the reality of the situation flooding back in. Lavender had never been exactly the brightest...but she obviously had enough sentience to take in the fact that her old roommate was in the room, had been given a wand by Lord Voldemort himself and instructed to do something with it. 

“Everyone thought you were captured! You’ve joined you know who?! How?! You’re a –“

Hermione realised that she didn’t want to hear whether the word the girl chose to describe her started with mug or mud. She didn’t want to allow Lavender to have a conversation with her at all.   
If she was to be able to do this, then she would have to remove those things that most froze her and ignited her guilt. There was no other way.   
Fortunately there were curses among the selection Voldemort wanted demonstrated that would serve the purpose.  
She extended her arm quickly and incanted “tăiate ochii.” While the girl screamed hysterically and scraped at the glassy ichor trailing down her cheeks from her ruined eyesockets, Hermione had already steeled herself and incanted the second curse she needed. “retire lang” 

It was one thing to decide to use it and another thing entirely to face the result however. She hadn’t gotten that far in the book with the muggle before he..er.. broke. The sound of the meaty organ slapping down onto the stones, coupled with the thick gurgling inarticulate screaming was too much. Hermione turned and emptied her stomach onto the floor behind her.   
She had not eaten yet, so there was little to eject, but her mouth tasted of acid bile now. She used her wand to quickly vanish the small dribbles on the floor, worried that she was going to be called weak again. 

“Idiotic and disobedient” the high, perversely harmonic voice snarled from further away than he had been standing before she bent to vomit.   
She looked around to find Voldemort healing Lavender’s wounded mouth and throat, although he seemed to be ignoring her empty eye sockets.   
Her former roommate was still and quiescent, obviously restrained. She was still screaming. Now the sound was an ugly croaking screech. The uprooted tongue twitched on the ground but at least blood was no longer pouring from her mouth down her dirty blouse. 

“I instructed you to begin with the lesser flesh eating curse, I believe”   
Voldemort sounded clipped and irritated as he abandoned the girl, freeing her from whatever was preventing her from struggling. She immediately turned and ran - straight into the wall unfortunately - bouncing off and falling over, then recovering and crawling away again till she found a corner to cower in. 

“I’m sorry.. I.. needed...” Hermione tried, faltering.   
“I thought if I..”  
She sighed inwardly. She had made an error. Two errors. She had selected a curse that wouldn’t achieve what she wanted to achieve – She would have had to use the curse eventually and thought that to use it now she might escape the accusations and slurs that were sure to spill from her former roommate’s mouth the moment she began to curse her. But Lavender was still making disturbing noises even if she couldn’t talk anymore. It wasn’t much better. On top of that error, she had not done exactly what she was told. He had said ‘start from the beginning.’  
She scraped together what she needed to say.

“I’m sorry...my Lord. I shouldn’t have used those curses – especially the last one. Thank you for fixing my mistake. I will listen from now on.”

To her astonishment, the pale alien face softened slightly and then Lord Voldemort sighed.  
“Proceed...without silencing the witch.. and I shall disregard it.”

She let out the breath that she had been holding and turned back to the bloodsoaked, wailing girl in the corner. 

“Manje vyann” she incanted softly, aiming the spell at Lavender’s bare foot.   
She didn’t want to cause too much damage too early - especially not after the slip with the tongue tearing curse.   
Black speckles appeared faintly, growing rapidly until the side of Lavender’s foot was covered in dark bruise-like marks. Then the skin at the centre of each bruise radius seemed to pucker and begin to be eaten away. 

“Good” came the soft praise as the Dark Lord paced softly to stand behind her right shoulder. She raised her wand and halted the spread of the flesh eating curse.

“The next.” He sounded slightly closer and as she lifted her wand to cast the next curse - a rather benign one from ancient Japan which simulated the sensation of insects crawling all over the body - she felt one of her porcelain doll ringlets captured, lightly tugged and released. 

“Sen mukade no kyōki” she pronounced. 

Lavender jerked away from the wall and started to brush her hands all over herself in a panic. Her croaking cries, which had been subsiding slightly, returned to the same panicked bursts as she slapped at her body with increasing desperation.   
Voldemort was silent behind her so she assumed it was acceptable and that she was supposed to continue. The second Japanese curse in the collection tripped off her tongue easily.  
“Sotto iki”   
She was relieved when Lavender’s cries were snuffed as surely as if she’d been muffled with a pillow. The curse wouldn’t allow her to fill her lungs fully. It didn’t prevent one from speaking softly, but panic and yelling was impossible without suffocating.

“Good..” The voice from behind her praised softly. “Perhaps this curse might have been one other option, if you insisted upon disobeying.  
...Proceed.. Do not pause so between curses – I do have other plans this evening which I am delaying for you...”

 

Lavender was only sobbing exhaustedly by the time she reached the pliatha-crorix hex that had been so damaging on the muggle. She paused uncertainly.   
“You may skip to the next” Voldemort’s voice murmured, close behind her. He sounded ..pleased..with her. She couldn’t help but feel relieved.   
She was starting to feel very tired though. Some of these spells were quite difficult - the next one for instance required energy to maintain. But she’d gotten a lot further than this when she was casting on the muggle. She raised her wand and tried to collect herself.

“Stop.”

The voice came from close behind her right ear. Voldemort had leaned forward. She could sense how close he was...feel his warmth in the cold room. 

“You must be aware of your own capabilities. Do you imagine I wish to nurse you if you deplete yourself to the point of collapse?”

She hesitated.   
No.. she really didn’t. Why was the thought of him nursing her back to health so inexplicably appealing?! He’d probably just dump her in the cage.  
But last time.. when she’d been cruciated...  
No.. it’d be the cage. He wouldn’t do that this time.  
And really... he’d just offered her a chance to stop cursing Lavender. She could choose to stop and she had a legitimate reason for doing so.  
Why was that thought occurring to her last of all, after considerations of her health and possible chance of being touched and coddled by him?! Ugh.. she was a terrible person!

She lowered her wand.

Warm fingers ghosted down her arm and removed it from her hand. She wanted to resist but..if she did then she’d probably only persuade him not to let her have it again.

“I know that you could have managed more, Hermione... But I am pleased with your performance even so.”  
Behind her, he stepped that final half step until his robed form was touching her back. She realised that the lace seemed to magnify the feeling of the warm silk brushing against her.   
His hand that had taken her wand, and obviously secreted it away somewhere, returned to her and glided very slowly down the front of her body, barely touching her.   
She sighed and leaned back against him ever so slightly

“Ah... I take it you have missed me then..” he said in a soft murmur. “Yes!” she answered immediately, keeping her eyes on the stone and away from the whimpering pile of Lavender Brown in the corner.   
“yes... I’m sorry.. please-..”   
She didn’t need to finish the plea because his hand pressed more firmly against her, pulling her harder against him and then stroked slowly back up her body. It paused briefly to caress her breast, teasing her nipple to a protesting point beneath the lace dress that was suddenly horribly, irritatingly, itchy and constrictive, then the warm palm continued upward till he gripped her throat snugly, stroking the skin with his thumb gently.  
It was insane.. to enjoy this.. the feeling of Lord Voldemort’s hand ever so gently threatening her. Her eyes slipped closed and she leaned against him, giving up entirely.

“You disappointed me last time, Hermione...” he said quietly, his strange silky purr above and behind her right ear. “If I reward you again.. what is to say that you will not make such an abominable fuss again tomorrow..” 

She wanted to tell him that she didn’t want to be alone anymore. She wanted to say that she’d try not to feel guilty.. or regret – that she’d made a choice this time..   
She wanted... She wanted...a number of things that she couldn’t possibly say out loud, chief among them being for him to kiss her again.   
Shaking her head was impossible. The mere thought of moving caused his hand to tighten slightly.  
“please” she managed breathlessly. “I won’t.. I...” 

His hot tongue slid up the outer shell of her ear slowly. 

She felt all the pertinent muscles from her neck to her knees clench in reaction and she knew she was already wet. At what point had she started to get wet, she wondered. When he’d stepped close behind her? When he’d touched her for the apparition? When he’d spoken to her?   
When she’d first seen him today?

“Do you think you deserve to be rewarded, my ..disobedient.. little acolyte?” he murmured against her ear and she whimpered in sudden painful need.

What was the right answer?! 

“No... But...I want to be..” she whispered “Please!!”

She felt his smile.

“Perhaps after you are finished here.” he offered in a pseudo-generous tone.   
She frowned slightly. She had thought she was finished here. He’d let her stop. He’d told her she’d performed well. performed. Past tense. Did he want her to continue now?!

“The girl has recognised you, Hermione. Do you expect me to clean up your leavings?!”

Her frown deepened. Lavender had no tongue.. no fingers.. she had no eyes.. and therefore no one could use legi..  
But the Dark Lord could hear her thoughts all the way from the cage. And... she had sometimes wondered whether Professor Dumbledore couldn’t do the same.   
...But they were really powerful wizards – it was almost certain that most wizards who might come in here to torture Lavender wouldn’t be able to do that.  
On the other hand... maybe... just maybe aurors or mediwitches of some kind might have a method for legilimentic extraction without eye contact... She couldn’t be sure.   
Voldemort would never consider those a threat though.. - Although he seemed sure that Harry would come, he was also quite certain that he himself would prevail.   
All of this, she realised, was semantics.   
He had implied what he wanted. She would either do it, or she wouldn’t. 

“How?” she asked in a tiny toneless voice.   
The hand around her throat released her and slapped her across the cheek, in a manner he probably considered a friendly tap. She gasped and flinched in shock as her cheek stung

“Now, now.. you are doing it again, my dear. I’ll have none of that miserable fatalism. Your self-pity repulses me! 

In answer to your legitimate question – I will, against my better judgement, allow you to use whatever spell your own engorged conscience considers most tolerable.   
Put her out of her misery, if you must... if a humane end will assist you not to harp on ad nauseum after the fact.” 

He stepped away quickly and she was left with a cold feeling where he had been. The thin lace skin that made her so sensitive to his touch, made her just as sensitive to the chilly dungeon air.  
Her wand was offered to her impatiently.  
“Do not dither. I am already late for a gathering at which I am to be the guest of honour. You are obliging me to insult my hosts and their guests.”

Hermione took the wand and tried to think. The whatever that Lord Voldemort was supposed to attend was distracting her from the more important thoughts of what she should use on Lavender and why.

Her mind was compiling a list of spells that would..um.. put her down. That is.. uh.. extinguish her life.   
Some of them involved bleeding – she abandoned those. They would be messy and frightening. 

She thought almost immediately of the praevextra which had killed the muggle.  
For some reason she had the feeling that the wizard standing impatiently behind her somewhere would be disappointed if she chose that one.   
Although.. it had seemed quite painless. He’d just collapsed and then he was dead. 

...Of course.. there was another spell that was supposed to be quite painless, wasn’t there?!   
Everyone knew it.. or at least knew of it. 

He’d like it if she could use that one.. 

But then... it was also very hard to use, she knew. It required focus.. and power.. and will.. and most people who were of the kind of disposition to want to use it lacked one or all of the above. 

Technically, she even knew how it was cast - after the false Moody had given such an awful class presentation on the unforgiveables and had clearly demonstrated the wandforms to all the impressionable little minds sitting there in dumbfounded horror, the spell had been digested and filed almost without thinking.   
She had never tried it though..   
Well obviously she wouldn’t have used it! She wasn’t going to go and kill something just to see if she could – even though Rita Skeeter had been a very tempting target for a while as she buzzed irritatingly in her little jar. 

She didn’t know if she could cast it at all.   
But.. it was a humane end, they said, even if the fear of it within the wizarding world kind of belied that fact. It would be a peaceful death for Lavender. And ..if she was going to have to kill her one way or another...  
She cut that thought off right there. He’d warned her against fatalism and self pity. She could hear impatient shifting behind her. Any second now he would lose patience. 

Taking a deep breath, she raised her wand and aimed resolutely at the miserable little whimpering form in the corner.

“Avada Kedavra”


	8. Chapter 8

“Avada Kedavra”

 

There was a green flash and then the world rolled up around her as she dropped to the ground heavily.  
Wow. That spell was ...really... really.. tiring.. Damn.. Her eyes closed without her permission and she felt herself relax. 

She could hear Lord Voldemort. He was actually chuckling softly.. 

chuckling... 

In amusement. 

It was surreal.

“Foolish, inconvenient little creature” he muttered in a way that sounded quite affectionate and then hands were sliding beneath her and she was – joy of joys – lifted up and cradled against his body.   
The apparition was so much nicer when she was held like this. She’d have to make a note to always have Lord Voldemort hold her like a child when she needed to apparate somewhere.

She could feel the gentle sway as he walked. Then she was being lowered onto a bed.   
A bed. Not the cage.   
Something that had been tight and tense inside relaxed just a fraction.   
Fingertips stroked her hair momentarily. He was standing over her, looking at her. She could feel it..

There was a soft crack. 

“Prit – Go and deliver my sincere apologies to Lucius. I will unfortunately miss the Saturnalia this year. Other more pressing matters have intervened.”  
The house elf popped away again.

She lay still, feeling wonderfully limp and relaxed, although she didn’t feel she was close to slipping into unconsciousness.   
It just felt as if the energy required to open her eyes.. to sit up or move.. would be an unnecessary expense   
\- so much more pleasant to simply lie here in this rare comfort of a soft bed rather than a hard floor. 

Voldemort had cancelled what was obviously a New Year’s celebration. She wondered whether he would be angry with her for making him miss it. 

The bed below her dropped away as she was levitated slightly. She felt the blankets beneath her drawn down and then she was lowered again before they were lifted up over her. Her dress was itchy and annoying. She wanted it off..  
Voldemort’s soft chuckle surprised her again. 

“Impatient witch. I will tear your clothes off in a moment. I am busy at present. You will wait.”  
She felt a warm blush creep up her neck.. she.. she hadn’t meant that.. um.. Not..that she was necessarily opposed to... The blush deepened slightly.

“Drink..”   
The strangely soothing voice emanated from a point that was quite near to her, as if he were bending over her again.   
Wondering what he wanted her to drink would be pointless on so many levels, she reasoned as she parted her lips and got a mouthful of something violently bitter. She swallowed the unpleasant liquid.

“Good girl” Voldemort said distractedly as if attending to something else. There was a plink sound and then dripping faintly.   
She started to feel very strange. Whatever he’d made her drink- it felt like there was a warm shivery feeling tracing out to her extremities from the centre of her body.   
Her silent wondering did not escape him and he explained quietly. “It is a little known potion.. it..” he paused as if thinking “It..functions as a guide for a spell which transports other less potable potions into your bloodstream.   
...The warmth you feel is due to the serum you are currently receiving. You should be..quite well...in an hour or two.”

There was the sound of steps walking away and then the man’s voice drifted over to her from somewhere that, her mind charted, was close to the bookcases by the desk.  
As I said.. Severus was an extremely useful man to me. Just as he developed the potion to counteract the physically debilitating after-effects of the cruciatus.. this is another of his little creations.”  
The voice approached her again slowly   
“It stimulates a wizard’s core to replenish itself under conditions of magical depletion.” 

She marvelled over this. Magical depletion was a malady without a cure in the Wizarding world. Those suffering from it were generally restricted from possessing a wand and were left in the hope they would recover naturally. It seemed that Lord Voldemort had solved the problem already and simply neglected to share it with anyone.

She felt the other side of the bed dip and then move a bit as the Dark Lord made himself comfortable.   
“It was..unwise...of you to decide to use the killing curse after I had already warned you to take care not to overexert yourself. I do not believe you were ignorant of how demanding that particular spell is.. and I had already told you of how unenthused I would be to have to look after you...exactly as you have now necessitated...”

She shrank internally. He wasn’t pleased. He was annoyed. She’d done another stupid thing. She’d essentially disobeyed again. And now he was missing his thing and he’d used potions that..he maybe couldn’t get more of, since Professor Snape was.. gone.   
Which was also her fault.  
He was disappointed in her. And annoyed. 

A finger stroked her cheek gently. “No.”   
It was said very quietly. 

“...No. ...I am not...disappointed...or annoyed with you, Hermione. I ..understand..why you chose to use the curse. I clearly perceived your intent.. had I wished to stop you, it would have been little trouble for me to do so.” 

“I allowed you to deplete yourself in order to learn whether you were capable of casting the most demanding of the unforgiveables.   
It was ..a wonderful opportunity..that did not require tedious cajoling and threatening on my part. Under other circumstances no doubt you would have made an inhuman fuss.

I was not at all disappointed in you.. 

...To have succeeded when you were already so near exhaustion is a credit to you. To have chosen to accept the risk purely in the hope of pleasing me...almost persuades me to forgive your behaviour over the last month.”   
A hand cupped her face and turned her head slightly. It lolled in the direction in which the Dark Lord guided it. There was no pain however... she felt lovely and relaxed...unnaturally so. Like the feeling of sunbathing for too long.. slow and lazy.

“And I was not particularly annoyed to miss the Saturnalia either” Voldemort’s voice assured her softly, his fingertips barely grazing her jaw, lighter than butterfly wings. “I find celebrations at Malfoy Manor to be an odious chore, generally. So many self-important scoundrels posturing and climbing over one another to flatter me ...in the most transparent manner trying to persuade me to support whatever pointless endeavour would benefit them most. I struggle not to curse more of them. One must maintain a bare minimum of decorum, after all.”

She felt the bed shift again as he moved. Then she had the impression that he was lying parallel to her. She couldn’t say what exactly it was that made her think it, since her eyes were closed, but it was confirmed when his arm came to rest over her in a light embrace above the blankets and his voice spoke from inches in front of her face.

“No. I am quite certain that I would rather watch the year die in your rather aesthetically pleasing company than yet again bear witness to the entire Goyle family’s inability to chew with their mouths closed.” 

She wanted to smirk. She could remember feeling the same way on those times that she had dined at the Burrow. It seemed as if, with the exception of Percy, the rest of the family just did not understand the concept of chewing silently and not talking with their mouth full. Even Percy, who was otherwise a completely officious creep, would still slurp soup loudly.   
When they were all in jovial spirits and laughing and eating together, she sometimes felt quite sick watching the little bits of food fly across the table. 

“I shall read to you..” 

She couldn’t express her shock at this which was probably for the best. The little excited frisson was entirely mental as the rest of her body lay in warm comfortable quiescence.

Lord Voldemort was going to read to her. He’d given her something to heal her and now, rather than going and doing something else with his valuable time, as he’d described it, he was going to actually read an actual book to her.   
This morning when she woke she had hoped that she might.. if she begged.. get a look.. a simple glance.. Perhaps even a command to be silent...   
This was..beyond everything she had hoped for. It was miles... hell it was light years beyond her hopes

There was the sound of turning pages. 

“In view of your..particular origins.. I have selected a book you may appreciate. The author is one of the few muggles I credit with some worth; Nietzsche - a German who wrote before my own birth.”

Hermione was astounded that Lord Voldemort would read any work written by muggles.   
She was less surprised by exactly who he might deign to read. Although.. she supposed it could be worse.. He could be reading the Marquis De Sade or something.

She heard the soft inhalation that preceded the man in bed next to her beginning his reading.

“The Will to Truth, which is to tempt us to many a hazardous enterprise, the famous Truthfulness of which all philosophers have hitherto spoken with respect, what questions has this Will to Truth not laid before us! What strange, perplexing, questionable questions!   
It is already a long story; yet it seems as if it were hardly commenced.   
Is it any wonder if we at last grow distrustful, lose patience, and turn impatiently away? That this Sphinx teaches us at last to ask questions ourselves?   
Who is it really that puts questions to us here? What really is this "Will to Truth" in us? 

In fact we made a long halt at the question as to the origin of this Will--until at last we came to an absolute standstill before a yet more fundamental question.   
We inquired about the value of this Will. Granted that we want the truth: why not rather untruth? And uncertainty? Even ignorance?...”[i]

 

 

Hermione listened to the horribly tantalising voice with fascination and abject delight. No one had ever read to her before like this.   
It was ..strange.. that it should be this man..of all possible wizards who would introduce her to the pleasure of the written word refracted through another’s voice. 

And what a voice to refract Nietzsche through.. It was audible as he read page after page, the way some of the ideas had touched the man by her side.   
Not that she felt entirely at home with everything he read, ...nevertheless the regular cadence.. the gentle breathy harmonics of his voice – the depth of it when he spoke, particularly as he was so close to her, it was all so engaging.. Like a long slow massage for the mind. 

Sometimes he would pause and then she would feel his fingers brush lightly over her as if examining some aspect of her features he had not yet adequately investigated.   
The barely detectable flicker of sensation across her eyelash. A thumb grazed over the cupids bow of her upper lip. She realised she was feeling better when she automatically licked her lip to still the tickling left in the wake of his smooth finger.   
Then his mouth was hard against her own, taking the kiss from her impatiently, as if he’d been waiting all the while for this.   
He tasted of something sharp and alcoholic that burned her tongue, making her flinch at first, but it left a sweet taste after the burn. She found she quite liked it.  
Pursuing her tongue tirelessly, he finally managed to catch it, tempt it back into his own mouth and suck at it gently. She mmmmed, feeling her breathing speed, as he moved closer, rolling her gently onto her back and leaning over her.   
She became aware, again, of how much taller.. larger.. he felt.   
When he drew away it was only to press hard, biting kisses along her jaw and down to her neck. The nips there were more painful than pleasing, she turned slightly, discomforted.

“A month I have foregone this.. little witch” he muttered against her throat before his tongue trailed a hot wet line up to her ear. “A month of enduring insipid drivel in my mind each day..” 

She opened her eyes in time to see the pale smooth head pull back.. in time to see his blood red eyes burning intently. 

She wondered ...if he had wanted her, why he didn’t just take her?! He was..him.. after all. He hadn’t been very interested in her permission the first time. If he was tired of her thoughts, why hadn’t he punished her.. or

If he heard the thoughts.. he didn’t bother to answer the questions. He simply dragged the blankets down off her and looked over her entire body possessively.   
With an expression reminiscent of concentration and satisfaction he extended a long white slender finger and touched it lightly to the neckline of the lacy dress. There was a sss sound as the thin strands in the lace singed through and came apart.   
She winced, still not quite capable of the degree of movement that would be necessary if she wanted to avoid the painful searing sensation his finger evoked on her bare skin.  
He dragged his finger slowly down the front of the dress, parting it, and, incidentally, leaving a thin line of angry pink burned skin in his wake.   
It was worse when he had reached her abdomen. She had regained, perhaps through the adrenalin of the pain, sufficient energy to jerk and try to move. All this did was skew the straight line into curves and zigzags. He didn’t even pause, although his eyes flicked up to her as if chastising her for being inconsiderate and spoiling his pleasure. 

When he had reached her pubic mound and her hair actually singed with a terrible smell, he frowned.   
“I think we shall remove that, don’t you?” he murmured, still focused on his current preoccupation. She whimpered as he burned the sensitive skin lightly.   
He veered to her thighs, zigzagging intentionally and leaving little curved trails alternating down them until he finally reached the hem of the dress and it parted, the fabric springing apart slightly. He brushed it further aside baring her and looking her over with visible approval. For a moment he trailed soft fingertips over her burn before he wandlessly vanished the dress.   
In the back of her mind she growled. ‘was that really necessary.. Could have just removed it like that without hurting me’

His smile widened nastily.   
“You enjoy it when I hurt you, my dear. As do I. Do stop complaining.” He leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her lips then shifted until he could trail the point of his hot wet tongue down the stinging line of burnt skin. She winced and shivered.   
He followed the line all the way down.. painfully slowly. Here and there he veered off to the side to kiss or nip at her flesh. By the time he had reached her lower abdomen and started to suck her hipbone she was already breathing fast and shallow and trying not to squirm. If he was going to do what it looked very much like he was going to do.. Oh god.. She didn’t know whether she could handle that. 

Then he whispered against her skin and the blinding pain as her pubic mound burst into a bright flare of flame, distracted her quite effectively from her anxious anticipation. She screeched and struggled. The flame had flared briefly and extinguished immediately, singeing away all her hair, but the pain had been exquisite for that moment. It still stung now.   
She wailed and tried to wriggle away when Voldemort started to lick at the hot sore skin

“No.. don’t.. It hurts.. Please.. stop hurting me.. I don’t.. I don’t enjoy it.. please..”

The tongue that had been flickering up the seam of her thigh withdrew and dark blood red eyes smiled up at her.   
“No? My mistake.. Well..either way..I enjoy it... and after being so disappointing for so very long.. you do wish to please me now, surely.”  
She grimaced.. There was no right way to refuse, clearly.   
“Yes..master” she tried, hopefully. 

“Transparent, my delicious little Slytherin-in-training. “Your first deduction was correct. There is nothing you might say at this point that will dissuade me from enjoying you as I most desire. I am certain, however.. that over the course of my exploration, you will come to find some pleasure also.

He nudged her thigh gently wider and kissed it gently. “Do you know.. I have enjoyed a number of others over the last weeks.. Of these, I have tasted several... however I have not found a witch to match the tiny taste I garnered on the evening that I first took you. I have been most impatient over the last weeks for you to finally see the error of your ways so that I might sample you once again...

Hermione bristled.   
Others?!   
It was completely stupid of her to feel jealousy, she told herself. She was just a mud..muggleborn in a cage and this was Lord Voldemort. He might have let her read a few books.. he might have spent a little time amusing himself by trying to corrupt her.. but clearly there was very little she saw from her small silver world. Of course he would have an entire scree of witches somewhere around the place ready and waiting to do whatever he wanted. He was the Dark Lord. Bellatrix wouldn’t be the only one besotted by him.  
It was completely stupid to feel like she had anything at all to think about that. Really – she didn’t. She was an idiot.

And.. and he was Voldemort.   
Voldemort!   
It’s hardly as if she was gagging to be the only lover of the psychotic mass murderer who wanted to wipe out all of her friends and everyone like her.  
That was a ridiculous thought.

He bit her.

Hard.

On the inside of her thigh, right in the sensitive soft area at the top. 

She yelped and spasmed in pained shock, struggling to try and get away – to try and get him off. He released her flesh a moment later only to tut her disapprovingly.

“Now now, my dear.. such unflattering thoughts.. after all I have given you..   
Do you truly believe that you have any justifiable claim over my ..fidelity... You are yourself not quite the paragon of loyalty you realise?   
Besides.. it is entirely possible that I may not have taken others to my bed, had you not chosen to carry on in a childish manner. I was enjoying our little games, Hermione.. It was you who repudiated my affections..   
Indeed I believe I cannot be faulted for ..respecting.. your wish to be left alone.   
But.. in the spirit of disclosure.. allow me to share the pertinent details with you... since, apparently, with whom I have occupied my time is of far more interest to you than my expressed desire to drink of your sweetness.” He trailed a warm flickering tongue from the bite up to the crease of her thigh.. halting just before he reached her stinging pussy, which – truth be told – was stinging much less now. She released the breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding.   
Did she really want to know this?!.. No. Not in the slightest. it wouldn’t make her happy. What would make her happy seemed to be if he would just.. continue.. along the line he had been tracing. The feathery damp movement had been...   
She had no sensations to compare it with. No one had ever used their mouth on her in that way before.. 

“Perhaps.. we might combine your interests then..” the pale serpentine gestalt lying between her splayed legs murmured before he licked a swathe up the inside seam of her thigh again. She gasped at the sensation that set her clitoris to tingling needfully.   
it seemed he realised her ache since she heard him chuckle softly. 

“Medra” he remarked contemplatively, punctuating the word with a feather light kiss to the inside of her other thigh. She twitched, not expecting the kiss there. “Was a pureblood witch of the house Gabron. She was twenty two, or so she informed me. An extraordinarily attractive young witch.” He trailed lingering kisses up her thigh toward the place she most wanted his attention. She squirmed uncomfortably – both at the sensation and the things she really didn’t want to know.   
She didn’t want to hear about Medra Gabron the pretty witch he shagged in her absence. She didn’t want to know how many he had or who they were. She just wanted him to stop so that she could pretend she didn’t know about it. 

And yes yada yada it was irrational and it was bloody stupid but that was the way it was. 

She might be relatively willingly sleeping with Lord Voldemort but her own somewhat idiosyncratic personal standards dictated that she would never sleep with someone if she were not in a relationship with them – a stable one, mind! Not just a bit of fun.. That was why she’d never entertained any of Ron’s advances. There was no way she’d ever have considered marrying him.. having an actual life with him.. a family.   
And although thinking of those things in connection with the man currently nestled twixt her thighs was beyond perverse.. that didn’t mean that she wanted to abandon the paper thin delusion that, although he was obviously evil and despicable and ...everything.. he’d said he didn’t involve himself much with others in that way... he’d said he chose her.. He’d said he’d keep her.. protect her.. if she obeyed. He was possessive of her.. to the point of cruelty. Those things, flimsy and deranged as they might be, were sufficient to allow her the barely acknowledged assumption that she was in some kind of relationship or other with him.   
The delusion had as one of its core assumptions the notion that he wouldn’t be sleeping with others. 

Although she had nothing whatsoever to protest against it.. she really wanted him to stop so that she could go back to the assumption that rendered everything sufficiently parsimonious in her head to tolerate what was happening without rubbing up against the morals that her parents had instilled in her. 

“Ah yes.. more moral baggage, my unfortunate little pet.. I do see how damaging these.. unfortunate influences around you have been. Dumbledore.. Potter.. your muggle upbringing...  
perhaps in time you might come to let go of their teachings as something which they believe, but which nevertheless does not apply to you.. Now.. as I was saying... Medra. A young lady with a formidable pedigree... and barely two brain cells to rub together unfortunately..”   
He stroked the length of her leg with a soft hand, following the curve. When he reached her hip, he continued over the hollow of her abdomen and rubbed gently.   
“She had large, startling blue eyes.. Black hair that reached the middle of her back..”

Hermione grimaced, turning her face to the side. She didn’t want to hear this.   
The hot wet flicker at the edge of her pussy lip made her twitch away and gasp. The tongue returned and traced up the edge of her lip. She squirmed as her pussy sucked involuntarily and blushed ashamed at the soft snigger from the wizard to whom the tongue belonged. 

“She was the youngest of three” Voldemort said distractedly. “a very quiet girl, I thought at first.. Apparently, her parents – who sent her to me, naturally – were quite aware that she was not the brightest witch, for all her other..graces.. and had instructed her to avoid speaking wherever possible. This might have stood her in good stead, had she been capable of listening to them. She maintained her silence.. well... she did not speak words.. while I enjoyed her..”   
Voldemort’s tongue traced the opposing lip’s outermost edge and she arched her back slightly. Her clit ached and she wanted him to move.. just an inch or two inward.. The sensation was maddening. She shuddered as a soft breath caressed her nerves “please” she whispered and was rewarded with a gentle lick precisely one inch further in. 

“Medra... tasted..of perfumes. Vile.. I had to scourgify them away.. Her own taste was rather mediocre. Neither particularly offensive nor especially pleasing. She was bland.. not sweet. She was not virginal.. Nor had her parents announced her to be, I concede, however there is something..distasteful about placing one’s mouth where another has been.. even after cleaning charms. I believe I would not have even bothered, had I not been curious whether she might demonstrate any superiority to your own..tart sweetness.. after all.. her blood can be traced back to Renro Gabron, an associate of Salazar himself, or so the official recorded history quotes.  
I was... disappointed.. at how utterly inferior she revealed herself to be. In.. every respect.. When she set to babbling inanely after I had sated myself upon her rather underwhelmingly limp and inert body...I rather lost my patience with the foolish chit.” 

Hermione couldn’t help the nasty little hope that fluttered fragile within.   
It was an evil little wish.. 

It was granted. 

“I returned her body to her parents of course. With my sincere condolences. In respect for their sacrifice I employed a curse that would not disfigure the idiotic, pretty creature. Her family was able to perform a traditional burial.”

Hermione couldn’t prevent the little warm glow of schadenfreude at the thought that Medra whatever had been killed.. had been inferior to her.. had not pleased Voldemort at all.   
She moaned softly as the wizard’s hot tongue laved the centre of her pussy suddenly, from bottom to top, stopping just below her clit. He traced a circle around it with the tip of his tongue. She made a little impatient noise and tried to wriggle her hips to bring him exactly where she wanted him. 

“Patience..Hermione..” he murmured, sounding pleased. 

She whimpered softly, and tried to calm down again.. Her entire pussy seemed to be tingling and wanting..

“Seraphina” he said thoughtfully and she groaned in frustrated annoyance.   
He chuckled, amused, and continued in spite of her blatant infuriation.   
“Seraphina Ogden.. another fine pureblood witch, approached Lucius, seeking an introduction. At twenty five, she was quite mature enough to pursue this course independently.   
After I viewed Lucius’ memory of the incident, I allowed him to deliver the witch to me.   
She was.. tragically, an affiliate of Dumbledore’s little order. I knew it before I invited her.. which did make the entire incident marginally more enjoyable, I believe.   
Dumbledore does like to recruit Gryffindors – none of whom can act to save their lives. Seraphina knew quite well what she was getting into. She approached me with the intention of seducing and subsequently poisoning me”   
Voldemort sighed and laid his warm cheek against her inner thigh contemplatively. 

“I kept her alive for two days. She was passably skilled. A blonde.. long curly hair, not unlike your own.. Green eyes.  
I puzzled to myself, why they might imagine I would be drawn to a green eyed witch of all possible candidates.. Did Dumbledore believe I harboured a suppressed desire to bed his little saviour?!” He shook his head slightly and snorted.   
“Nevertheless.. I am not adverse to the old madam sending me his finest young whores to dispatch. He tried the same thing again early this week.. Perhaps you recall the brunette who begged for her life.. Her mind was promising all the order’s secrets.. promising her body.. confessing her secret adoration..   
Unfortunately for her..by Monday you were already pining after me and whining all day about my lack of attention and I was irritable and in no mood for a witch so very similar to yourself. She was of greater benefit as a target for my curses.”

Hermione wilted. He had heard her.. he just hadn’t been interested. He killed another order member simply because she reminded him of her. Which meant.. he probably wanted to kill her. The only reason he hadn’t, was obviously the same one he’d already given – that he wanted to use her to destroy Harry when he eventually arrived. 

“Hush..” he muttered “I have.. very nearly.. forgiven you. Do not spoil it..” 

She sighed. She’d lost her appetite for more of this. This was a horrible game. 

“You do not wish to hear any more?” he asked with a barely suppressed smirk in his voice? 

“No ..thank you” she responded hopefully. Maybe.. just maybe he would stop and just do.. the other thing he was doing.. 

“Ah.. I see.. you would rather my mouth were occupied elsewhere” the dark knowing voice floated up to her in the dim room. It felt like something barbed or jagged toothed that lay hidden under a leaf cover waiting for unsuspecting prey to amble by. She didn’t answer.  
“I would so hate to deprive you of information, however.. Perhaps ... Yes... I see a solution..”   
He climbed to his knees and crawled up the length of her body with a sadistic little smile. She noticed well that he had his wand in hand. 

“What... what are you doing!?” she whimpered.   
“No.. I.. I don’t need your mouth.. what you said.. I .. I don’t need anything. Please.. don’t hurt me.. Do what you want. I’m sorry!! I.. please?!”

The pale lips smiled even wider. Whatever it was he was about to do – he did want to do it.. he was going to enjoy it.. That didn’t bode well, she decided.   
In a last ditch hope, she pushed herself up and pressed her mouth to his, wrapping somewhat weak arms around his neck and trying to pull him down to her. He seemed to allow it. He lowered himself, balanced on hands and knees over her body.  
The silk of his skin against her own was hot and felt..good.. Very good. Soothing somehow. She wrapped her legs around him automatically, feeling his hard shaft compressed between them against her pussy. If she could.. angle.. herself.. just a little more.. ...she wanted him inside her..  
He kissed her more deeply, grinding gently against her. She felt her need grow slightly.

Something chilly and slightly slimy touched her forehead.

She stiffened through the kiss as an unfamiliar sensation spread through her mind. It reminded her somewhat of a pensive.. except it was worse.. There was no tumbling.. she was simply being led through a memory.. much like a pensieve memory... with the main difference being that it was her memory. SHE was the one walking.. she could remember thinking impatiently about.. about herself – the little witch in the cage.. disparaging thoughts.. disappointment.   
She.. what had he done?!.. this wasn’t her memory!   
She fingered her wand absently as she strode down a corridor that was both familiar and unfamiliar to her. The long dark passage turned and she gestured at the door, feeling a pleasurable hum of magic rush through her momentarily before it opened. The room within was as unfamiliar and incongruently known to her as the corridor outside had been. It was not the room in which she was currently lying on the bed with the Dark Lord above her. It was a different room.. far more opulent.. rich silks and hangings...   
There was a girl reclining on the bed. Her eyes widened as Hermione stepped through the doorway slowly, stalking thoughtfully closer, examining her. 

The girl raised herself slightly into a more flattering position. She had quite pleasing breasts. The thought fluttered through Hermione’s mind confusingly. Her own reaction was divided between embarrassment and indignation. The girl had larger breasts than her own.. with dark pink nipples already standing at attention. She was a brunette with straight chocolate brown hair that reached just below her shoulders. Her eyes were a soft brown and her lips full and painted deep red. There was an awed expression in her wide long lashed eyes.   
This one, she thought with mild relief, this one it seemed actually wanted to be here.. Was neither sent, nor on a dubious mission. - merely..enamoured..

Hermione fumed in reaction. She Did Not Want To See This!!   
It was impossible to escape the perspective and the events dragging her forward however. She struggled to think of something else but could not. It seemed she was a silent passenger to this memory.   
The unpleasant likely immediate future loomed in her mind. She was going to ..uh.. sleep with this girl..   
God.. She’d never had one of those ‘curious’ moments that other girl’s (especially blasted Lavender!) had giggled about in the dorms when they had their little pajama parties on Saturday nights.   
She’d never wanted to kiss a girl..   
she’d never wanted to ..do anything more than kiss a girl. She was decidedly not attracted to females.   
She really, really, didn’t want to be forced to watch.. worse.. to feel herself doing things with this completely unknown girl... This ..naked.. extremely naked in fact.. young girl.   
It occurred to her that this girl was completely shaved.. had Voldemort removed her own pubic hair because of her?! Did he prefer that? 

“I assume you understand what you are doing...” she heard her voice.. it wasn’t her voice. It sounded different to her in this memory than it did in real life. Was this how the Dark Lord heard himself?!

“Yes, my Lord” the soft eager voice responded. She stalked closer, her eyes sharpening as they drifted over the supple young body. The thoughts in her mind did not please her.   
He was attracted to the girl. Hearing those observations was like having an internal battle for her sexual preferences. This was just.. horrible.

There was a remote feeling.. something stroking down her body.. It jarred her mind a little.. The sensation was at odds with her present position standing next to the bed, looking down in pleasant anticipation at the girl posing herself for him. Her. Him. She was a he. She had the familiar tightening feeling of her cock hardening.   
Except that she was also lying down somehow.. and a hand had just smoothed down her ribs, over her hip to her thigh.   
She unclasped her robe slowly, parting it and revealing herself. The girl on the bed looked at her hungrily.   
“You are..stunning, my Lord..” she sighed and reached out a red fingernailed hand. Hermione intercepted it with her own snow white one and drew it to the side, releasing it as she shrugged her robe from her shoulders absently, allowing it to fall to the floor. The air caressed her skin. 

“Your name?..” her wrong-sounding voice spoke as she lowered herself on one knee onto the mattress.

“Adele..” the girl breathed.   
“Adele Carne” She surged forward and wrapped her arms around Hermione’s waist.. the red fingernails scratching lightly at the small of her back as she pressed soft heated kisses to her abdomen. 

Hermione was extremely torn by this development. Even as she tilted her head watching the girl’s overeager devotion.. raising a hand to brush through her silky hair, part of her was wanting to back away from this.. push the girl off, retreat, repulsed.   
The sudden distant sensation of hot breath on a body part she did not currently possess was even more confusing. She tried to reconcile the feeling of the soft red lips trailing over her cock with the strange invasive awareness of a tongue gliding wetly through her folds. The two did not compute.   
Nevertheless it was a relief when she had submerged herself in the hot damp cavern of the girl’s ... Adele’s mouth. She guided the head lightly, adjusting her movement to the rhythm and depth she preferred and drawing a deep shaky breath at the satisfying sensation.. She allowed the girl to bob for a minute or two, thrusting against her with slow easy strokes, before she pulled her off and examined her once again.   
Her eyes were.. vaguely reminiscent of the confounded mudblood.. But not quite as bright.. not as amber... more of a dull brown.

Hermione wanted to shake her head. The things she was thinking were bizarre. Wrong. Her mind kept jarring with the thoughts that made no sense. Was she just thinking about herself?!I She thought she might be losing her mind. What was she doing with this..girl?!.. 

OH!!  
The sensation! Sucking.. her clitoris.. oh god. Fuck!! She wanted to move but couldn’t work out where her body was in relation to the sensation. She was pushing the brunette down on the bed and leaning down over her, kissing her roughly.. impatiently. Her hand wandered down the body, stroking, fondling.. She slid her fingers through the slick folds and now.. now it almost seemed like the sensations she was experiencing could be reconciled – although it felt bizarrely as if she were masturbating.. the loop of signals in her fingers and her pussy..   
Although.. they didn’t match exactly.. and now.. the fingers that were probing gently at the small wet hole felt wrong.. didn’t match the wet.. hot.. slickness she was feeling there. 

She felt the tiny constriction.. the barrier.. The girl was virginal?!.. How delightful!   
The possessive and destructive instincts within her joined forces as she pulled away from the excited girl’s mouth. She did not linger overly as she moved down her body to the apex of her thighs.   
The first taste was..disappointing.   
Hermione’s mind thrashed at the conflict within. Too much.. sensation.. too many.. things happening. She could taste the sour tart dampness on her tongue and wanted to wash her mouth out.   
Oh god.. make it stop!! She rocked at the tongue bathing her pussy even as she traced her tongue around the tight hard clit and flickered it, feeling the fluttering of the girl’s thighs against her hands, the tightening of her pussy around her..his.. finger... 

Unsatisfying. Why was she bothering?! This girl would not compare to the other.. the one waiting sadly in her box in the grand hall. She could go and retrieve her.. take her instead.. But no. The girl had not yet recognised her error. To force her would only compound the problem.

She raised her head, moving away from the small pink shaved pussy spread before her, hearing the soft whine of disappointment. The delicious sensation continued unabated and she wanted to writhe but it wasn’t her body somehow. Her body was lying face down, considering the brunette currently on offer.   
She would take her. Possess her. The girl had offered.. wanted nothing more than this.. 

She climbed lithely up the slender body and caught the soft lips again. The girl sucked at her..obviously not at all perturbed by her own taste. With a hand, she caught the smooth thigh and lifted it.. pulled it up higher, pressing it forward against the girls upper body. It would compress her channel.. it would make her even tighter.. even more satisfying.   
“I wonder, my dear, if you truly knew what it is you desired..” she murmured against the red lips with dark amusement. 

The answer came as an ecstatic sigh “You! Oh You, my Lord – I desire YOU... take me.. I will give anything for you..” 

She had positioned herself against the girl’s small entrance and had been rocking lightly, feeling the small sucking movements the girl was making against her cock.  
her? Cock? That didn’t even make sense to her own mind. She reeled.   
Not her memory – her mind pieced together again as if for the first time. So hard to focus.. The sensations.. her body.. her bodies.. both of them. Overwhelmed with lust and feeling..  
She tried to pull the signals apart but her mind was swept back into events forcefully as she plunged her hips forward sharply, stabbing deep into the soft, boiling glove of the girl’s body. Oh.. sweet relief.. hunger.. her lust increased tenfold.   
A moment later she felt an echo of the sensation.. the feeling of being filled. It was heaven.   
The scream emitted from the body beneath her didn’t seem to agree with that sensation. She ignored it and began to move, withdrawing against the hot sucking clamp of the pained muscles and then thrusting forward once again hard, delving deeper. The scream went on – it became even more distressed. She silenced it absently and caught the hands that moved to fight her, capturing the wrists and forcing them back down against the bed as she moved hard and fast against the delicious slippery friction.   
“Now, now, Adele.. this is what you wanted.. have you forgotten?!” she murmured against the sobbing girl’s ear. The girl shook her head, her mouth moving silently, struggling, trying to free her leg. He smiled at her and dropped his head, biting her neck viciously. The responding clench in the girl’s pussy was pleasing. 

The feelings didn’t quite overlap.. the sensation of being entered.. being fucked.. and the sensation of fucking.. entering over and over again. They didn’t match. There was too much. She moaned.. but it wasn’t her voice.. gripped the girl’s other thigh and pulled it up, pressed it down against her chest, spreading her, compressing her as she reamed her pussy thoroughly, rolling her hips, stretching her. 

She panted, revelling in the feeling.. But there was still one more thing the girl could give her, she considered. Pulling out swiftly she aimed unerringly and skewered the tight clenched arse on her first try, forcing her head through the closed ring of muscle. It was so tight that the pressure hurt her cock.. She forced herself through.. deeper.. feeling the girl’s entire body thrash and fight. Ah.. ah.. yes.. merlin.. yes.. so.. good.. It was more difficult to move in this channel.. too restrictive.. tight.. still fighting against the invasion.. The sensations now no longer meshed at all. Well... apart from a feeling of fullness. Friction.. her eyes told her that she was thrusting into the red stretched rosette.. while the sensation of something in her pussy confused her to no end. 

She climbed swiftly to her release.   
there was a strange impending sensation.. she actually felt afraid. She didn’t know whether she could stand the sensation. It felt.. too much. Too much pressure.. too much potential energy.. like a spring that was tightened more and more.. Her heart pounding.. Two hearts pounding.. tightness and mounting.. urgent tension..   
Her wand in her hand. “ngushtësi rras” she hissed, feeling the hot sticky pressure around her cock increase exponentially.  
Somewhere else..Lips.. kissing her.. she was responding madly, clenching.. clutching.. except she was also balancing herself on her hands, holding the wrists and ankles of the now quiescent girl below her as she slapped into her roughly.. so close..

She reached the apex.. the feeling of pendulous tension.. like the top of a roller coaster... before she tipped.. crashed.. falling.. drowning.. Someone was screaming.. She couldn’t think.. her body moving as if possessed.. she didn’t know who she was.. where she was.. ecstasy.. a tongue..sucking and kissing as she sobbed and writhed. On and on.. forever..  
She felt too much.. the feelings didn’t fit.. it was.. overwhelming.. blinding.. 

“Avada Kedavra” she sighed breathlessly as she withdrew from the girl. The green light soothing on her wide dilated pupils.. She stroked the silky sweat damp hair from the young brow and turned away without another thought, vanishing her body as she paced slowly..sated.. completely relaxed..from the opulent bedroom.

Gradually the disparity dissolved and she remembered.. she understood again.. who she was.. where she was.. what he had done.. She couldn’t catch her breath yet. He was leaning over her, placing small kisses on her jaw.. cheekbone.. the corner of her lips.. she had the impression that he was pleased. It was in the soft, half lidded way he looked at her, almost dotingly.   
“My..Hermione..” he murmured softly.. his lips against her own. his hot.. tangy..tongue slipped between her lips, caressing the curve of her top lip slowly. “I have missed you”

 

 

The days afterward passed in a quiet rhythm. She hardly saw any of the death eaters in the grand hall anymore somehow.   
Probably because she slept most of the day (or was it night?) and in the night (day?) he would come and take her to his room. 

He had given her book after book: astronomy... arithmancy... transfiguration...runes... even languages.   
No curses.

He was...strangely affectionate. When he took her it was beyond amazing. 

It was disturbing how good it felt when he used his mouth on her.   
Without distractions..   
Seeing that strangely flat serpentine face at the apex of her thighs, the red eyes, half lidded in pleasure, watching her reaction with enjoyment as he lapped and twirled her into a frenzy... it was intoxicating. A rush.   
He hadn’t ever required her to return the favour but she had found herself fantasising about doing it anyway. 

Surely there was something wrong in her head that she honestly wanted to see what it was like to perform fellatio on Lord Voldemort.   
Or... really... to perform fellatio at all, might be more accurate –since she had never done it before.  
Although... perhaps she could admit to herself that it was also...him she wanted to do it to. 

She couldn’t help it really. The more time she spent around him... and the better he made her feel... the more she found herself craving his presence, wanting to please him so that he would look at her with that approving, on occasion even impressed expression.   
But just when she had decided to pull her courage together and just do it without asking the next time he took her into his bed, he’d given her another, much thicker and more advanced, book of dark curses.   
Refusing it was not an option, she realised. His eyes said it all. He’d stopped working on whatever it was he was so often working on at the desk, to pay attention to her as she read, discussing various points with her as he listened to her mind work through the curses.  
These curses were different..   
In the last book.. several of the curses had been potentially life threatening.. Some had been deadly – such as the blood thickening curse.. But on average, the curses contained within were primarily for the purpose of torture.. discomfort.. stress.. incapacitation..

This book was different.  
Every single curse within it was designed with one purpose – to end life.   
Whether immediately or in a delayed manner, every single curse would lead to death.

His attention to her as she read it.. as she absorbed the inhuman knowledge within, was acute. She felt her every expression, her posture.. her very breathing was being examined.   
He would want her to demonstrate learning again. She had no doubt.

There were forty curses in the grimoire. 

She glanced up at him again nervously. The red gaze was calm.. settled.. excruciatingly patient.   
“Questions?” he inquired, his voice sibilant. 

She shook her head.

Forty.

There was no way.

He moved closer, seating himself on the bed close beside her, and embracing her shoulders gently with one arm, pulling her against him.   
“You have been...happy... of late, Hermione? With your life.. here? With.. me?”

She swallowed.   
yes. She had. But.. forty was rather an intimidating number.

Ok.. she’d k.. she’d killed .. before.. accidentally and... intentionally.. but.. but it was different if she.. 

Forty!! 

How in.. Merlin’s name.. did he expect her to..   
Why!? Why was this necessary.. He could feel that she didn’t want to.. He couldn’t.. this was.. she couldn’t do it!! ..   
Forty innocent people in order to keep reading books and spending her time with him in comfort.. keep eating meals with him.. Once or twice he had allowed her to fall asleep in his bed.   
She had woken in the cage when he had retrieved her for the evening.   
Even if she was... maybe.. not ..entirely unhappy with the way things were these days. That didn’t mean that she could.. that she would..

“You do not have to demonstrate.. every curse, Hermione” he whispered generously against the shell of her ear. “I would not expect such an offering from my finest Death Eaters.   
no.. I think... five.. should suffice. I will of course select which curses you are to perform.. and you shall not know in advance which it is to be..   
Is that.. perhaps more palatable...my dear?”

She mused on the fact that if he’d started out demanding that she ..murdered.. five people.. for no good reason.. she’d have been panicking and trying to refuse automatically right now.   
However..five.. in contrast to the forty she had for a minute imagined that she was going to be forced to curse...  
Five was still ..  
she sighed.

“Tonight?” she asked, tonelessly

He wrapped his other arm around her and slid down in the bed somewhat, dragging her to lean herself against his lean hard body.   
“No.. Not tonight, my sweet. I believe I am inclined to reward you tonight for pleasantly surprising me and sparing us both the fuss I felt sure you would make.   
...Would you perhaps like to take a walk in the garden, Hermione?” 

A garden. 

Outside.

Something other than the two rooms that were all she had seen for...months. 

“Yes!” she answered immediately. “yes please!” She intentionally employed the word that he enjoyed hearing best of all... even more than ‘Lord’, she had come to learn. 

“Thank you.. Master..”

It was an uneasy acceptance she found within her heart.   
At some point in the future there would be death... murder.. it would undoubtedly be bestial.. horrific.. He would insist.   
but tonight.. Tonight there would be a garden... Fresh air.. there might be a moon.. stars..   
He would walk with her..   
there would be peace.. approving glances...   
For tonight, she could forget all of the things she knew were wrong or right and pretend to herself that this was all there was..   
These simple moments. 

He took her hand and brought it to his smooth lips, pressing a lingering kiss to the inside of her wrist. 

“Perhaps we shall walk there..” he offered generously.


	9. Chapter 9

She surmised that they were in some kind of manor or estate from the appearance of the endless, extremely formal, dark and dour halls that she was led through. 

The corridor they were currently walking down was long, wide and straight, however the light that seemed to emanate from nowhere and followed them as they walked, left the high ceiling and the way a few metres ahead in darkness. It felt eerie – like being in a bubble of light floating in a dark void. The walls were papered in silvery vines against a black background. They had pointed leaves that trembled and wavered slightly in a non existent breeze. Black lacquer panelling rose to waist height and had an almost mirror-like shine to it, although reflections were not seen in this half light. Intermittently there were tall narrow doors with ornate silvery handles. She wondered each time they passed one what might be behind it. Was the room she had seen in the memory somewhere behind one of those doors. She didn’t think so. The door in the memory had looked different. 

The black marble flagstones on the floor were even shinier and more reflective than the lacquer panels and were arranged in a complex pattern. Silver cracks between the stone squares seemed to evoke the impression of angular spirals that she found vaguely hypnotic as she stepped over them, the dark faint reflection of her feet matching her movements as if she were walking on black mirrors. 

They walked in silence. Nothing else in this place moved. It was all perfectly still and silent around them. The only sound was the faint silky swish of the Dark Lord’s robes and her bare feet padding half a step behind on the cold stone floor. He had transfigured a soft woollen robe for her but had neglected to give her shoes. 

“What time is it?” she asked curiously.

“Almost two” came the preoccupied reply. 

Unaccountably, she found her mind drifting back to the New Year... the night she'd killed Lavender. There were many things about that night that she preferred not to think on. At all. Her mind nevertheless kept returning to it like a tongue probing at a rotten tooth bed. She shut down the thoughts of what he'd done to her that night - what he'd made her experience him doing to someone else. That wasn't important. It didn't matter. Changed nothing. Nothing! 

He wanted her to kill again. Would it be worse to do it more than once?

Her mind perversely wandered off the prospect of killing again and back onto what had happened after she'd done it the last time. She'd said the words - anything to please him - to get his attention again. And then he'd carried her back to his chambers. Nursed her patiently. And then... She wondered whether the year had turned while Voldemort had read to her or while he'd....  
They did say that you should start the year as you mean to continue it.

Of course, that was superstition. 

Last year she had stood around and felt a bit of a third wheel while Ron shoved his tongue down Lavender’s throat and Harry blushed and gave Ginny a chaste hug.   
He’d given her a chaste hug too. The difference was that she’d known that he really wanted to be kissing Ginny. Perhaps not like Ron was kissing Lavender because that was really a bit much.. Harry would have kissed Ginny with a more tentative..emotional style.. he’d have-

She stopped.

What the hell was she doing?! Speculating on Harry’s bloody kissing style. And NOW?! While she was standing next to Voldemort?! Good god! Did she have a death wish?! She was being rewarded right now. She really, really wanted to see the garden that they were making their way toward. How Harry kissed was so unbelievably irrelevant in her world. Even if she were not here.. with..the particular man she was with – Harry’s kissing style would STILL be irrelevant since he would never kiss her!. She cursed herself for being so stupid. 

No comment came from the tall figure she followed.

Perhaps he hadn’t been listening. He had seemed distant when she’d asked the time. She tried to put Harry out of her mind altogether but it wasn’t so easy now that the idea of him had been called up. She wondered what he was doing tonight.. Was he with the Order? Was he still with Ron? Had they... found any?! 

The idea that she shouldn’t think about the horcruxes had been examined and abandoned long ago when she’d realised that Voldemort could hear her thoughts constantly.. and that she’d been sitting in the cage thinking about them often enough. 

She’d wondered what it felt like.. to have your soul in several different places at once. Did it hurt to split it? Could he sense the other pieces? What was that like?!

“Would you like to find out?” The Dark Lord sounded thoughtful, as if he were truly considering having her split her soul.

“No!” she responded quickly. “No.. I’d rather not.. please.” She hoped that her tone was polite and emphatic enough to get away from the prospect 

“It is difficult to describe to another.” He said after a moment as he opened yet another large heavy door magically and let them both through. She breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully, he was not continuing with the idea of her splitting her soul. 

“I cannot explain the way it feels. Tearing one’s soul is painless. Binding the fragment to a target is, however, excruciatingly painful. A pain without parallel. I..am not able to sense their presence in anything more than the most peripheral manner. I feel their well being.. their state in a sense.. but I do not feel their location. I trust that answers your questions.” 

He glanced at her with an unreadable expression which held, she wasn’t sure, elements of reproach. 

“The garden.” he said softly then, gesturing and lighting a torch at the end of the corridor they were walking down. It illuminated a heavy wooden door with carved panelling depicting what, as they approached, revealed itself to be a tree with complex intertwining branches. The door swung outward slowly, leaving a rectangle of deep black space. 

Oh yes. It was almost two am. The garden would be dark. She wished she had shoes. Who knew what you might step on in the Dark Lord’s garden?! Probably there would be snakes and things. There could be poisonous plants.. She wondered suddenly why he had thought to bring her here.. and why now. It seemed rather abrupt and pointless. He didn’t tend to do things simply out of a well meaning desire. 

There was a snort from the man leading her.

“It happened that I felt the desire to visit the garden. You, however, would have been left in your cage, had I anticipated you would be this unappreciative. Continue to try my patience and I shall apparate you back. 

She swallowed and nodded although he wasn’t looking in her direction.

The closer they came to the door, the more she could feel a soft breeze and smell fresh air.. it was amazing. It smelled of trees and dew and there was a sweet note, like herbs or flowers.. 

The Dark Lord preceded her through the door, striding out impatiently as if he had a particular destination in mind. 

She hesitated on the threshold, peering down at the dark ground, trying to see if there was anything that might hurt her feet. Outside the door, beyond the range of the torchlight, the white of the serpentine man’s smooth head seemed to float disembodied as his silky black robes blended with the deeper darkness. 

She swallowed and stepped out onto what turned out to be soft cool slightly damp grass.

“Why are you delaying?!” Voldemort demanded impatiently from several metres ahead. She looked up, trying to find him in the dark but her eyes hadn’t yet fully adjusted after the warm pool of torchlight.

“I’m sorry – i’m just worried about stepping on something. I can’t see where i’m putting my feet and you didn’t give me any shoes.”

There was a soft huff and then it seemed that the dark wizard tossed his hand up and flung a handful of glowing turquoise shards into the air. Instead of falling, however, they seemed to hang in the air like tossed stars. They illuminated the garden with a soft greeny blue light. She gasped in wonder! It was extraordinarily pretty. Like a Grotto and a fairy wood at once.. She could see that there was a long way that extended between tall trees into the deeper darkness ahead. The branches of the trees on either side were overhanging, here and there intertwining overhead, explaining why she had not had starlight to navigate by. Now the branches were hung with the artificial blue green stars.. The grass which was short in the centre of the way became longer around the bases of the trees, and in the long grass some dandelion clocks were just begging to be blown. The occasional rock and treetrunk was cloaked in thick luxuriant moss. It was truly gorgeous. 

She smiled in amazement at the impatient face of the serpentine man waiting for her to stop gawping and catch up.

Gingerly she tiptoed through the grass, peering down at it, alert for anything that might hurt. 

“Oh for Merlin’s sake” the irritated hiss was swallowed by the night. It lacked the reverberation.. the gravity that his voice took on in the stone chambers within the manor. She was still looking at the grass and yelped in surprise when she was lifted bodily and placed on his hip. She threw her arms around his shoulders quickly and tightened her legs around the slender body as he ceased holding her up, one hand moving to cup her behind lightly, the other falling to his side.

“And you are supposedly a fearless Gryffindor” he sniped disapprovingly. 

Unsure whether to smile or look chastened she clamped herself tighter around him and dropped her head to his shoulder. “Thank you..” she mumbled against his robe. 

“inconvenient little creature..” he muttered, looking away and stepping forward swiftly. “I should return you to your cage”

It felt very strange, she thought to herself as she clung through the rhythmic rocking of his walking. She didn’t think she’d been carried like this since she was a very small child. It was.. calming in some peculiar way. When his hand tightened beneath her and she felt his other hand assist, moving her, as he walked, from his hip to his front and then embracing her more tightly, she decided that it was somewhat different. Still comforting.. but not exactly childlike anymore. At least.. she could feel his groin brush her own every few steps and it didn’t make her feel innocent at all. Her face, which had been on his shoulder when she was braced on his hip, was now pressed into the side of his warm pale neck. She kissed it absently and the hand that was on her back stroked gently. 

She felt the breeze in her hair and looked up, realising that they had left the long path through the trees. Stars twinkled overhead through dappled high midnight blue clouds. She sighed, unable to stop the trembling butterflies in her stomach. She didn’t think that the night sky had ever looked this beautiful before. It was only a pity that there was no moon. She thought she would have loved to see the moon.

Lowering her eyes she looked back over the Dark Lord’s silken shoulder. There was the arch of the trees and now they were walking through low gardens.. There were a number of bushes and plants that she couldn’t make out much of with the exception of one, which seemed to have drooping white flowers that were glowing softly. The plants and bushes were arranged in orderly lines with spaces in between. She recognised the very distinctive silhouette of the blooms of belladonna even in the dark and next to them was a small bush with jagged leaves that she suspected might be snapdragon

“Is this a potions garden?” she asked curiously. The pale face slightly above her own turned for a moment with a thoughtful expression. 

“Yes. It belonged to Severus at one time” he answered “You are..observant” he said in a tone that did not betray whether this was intended as a compliment or whether he was irritated at her ‘powers of observation’.

She chose not to question further. Instead she put her chin on his shoulder and looked at the rows around her. They were ordered.. evenly spaced. No doubt if the garden belonged to Professor Snape, there was a reason for every single positioning – some plants, as they had learned in herbology, benefitted from the proximity of other plants. 

A gap in the neat progression drew her eye. She could just make out a tidy round hole in the ground where the plant should be. Obviously something had been there previously but had been removed. Perhaps it had not prospered in the soil, she speculated idly, lulled by the gentle rocking movement of their passage through the garden. There was another missing plant in the second row over, she noted. And another on the other side .. actually.. there were quite a few missing over there! She wondered idly whether all these plants had died since professor Snape had been killed. Perhaps they’d been removed for that reason. 

A tiny little irrational thought wandered through her head and was crushed immediately. Professor Snape was really dead. He was really a spy for the order and she had seen him really die right before her eyes. The Dark Lord had been furious. There was no reason whatsoever to think that he might not actually be dead and might have removed these plants himself.

The gate was only apparent to her as it receded behind them both. They had passed a high stone wall through a tall rounded archway which was gated with a heavy rounded topped and iron braced wooden gate. It closed silently behind them. She realised she had felt the hum of wards. This area was specially warded. Even within.. she could feel a slight scratchy thickness to the air. It was heavily and probably lethally warded. And it was warm.. Very warm in fact. She turned her head, glancing around. What was so special in here?! it was obviously their destination. 

The Dark Lord was walking through a narrow path cut through dense tropical foliage. Hermione watched as ferns and massive heart shaped leaves of succulents passed her face. The Dark Lord walked on until they both reached a small round clearing that was completely surrounded by the thick jungle plants. Looking above, Hermione could see only slivers of the night sky. In the clearing a low wide seat that reminded Hermione of a poolside deckchair was positioned incongruously. It was cushioned in a black fabric. Apparently this was one of the places that her ‘master’ liked to frequent when he was not in the great hall or his room... or some other room shagging some horrible witch. 

Voldemort made a beeline for the seat and turned, lowering himself carefully to sit upon it. She found herself sitting on his lap now. Although.. he didn’t seem to be hard, she noted – unsure whether she was relieved or disappointed. 

He smirked at her mildly and shifted, keeping hold of her, until he was reclining on the seat and she was curled over his chest. 

“There.. much better” he observed, and stroked her hair lightly. “You are an unwieldly burden after a while.

She barely managed to bite off the remark that if he’d transfigured her shoes she would have happily walked!

Crimson eyes met her own with a look of faint amusement.

“As I said.. after a time carrying you is burdensome. Obviously.. it was a self imposed burden. Your very presence is tolerated by choice my dear. You were specifically sought and captured upon my order.. Since you have resided here, I have been extraordinarily patient with you. I chose you.. for my own..

Whether you truly chose your own fate is a matter which might be argued, Nevertheless I do believe you have warmed to me..” 

His hand slid under her thick curls to cup the back of her neck, warm fingertips massaging gently. 

She pondered this herself as she bent her neck for his talented fingers. He had ostensibly forced her to make the choice herself. He had freed her from the cage.. he had asked her if she wanted a bath.. later he’d asked her to give herself to him..and eventually she’d said yes.. Eventually she’d wanted him. 

Admittedly she might have preferred to go home and be safe and far far away from Lord Voldemort.. and possibly she had a very slender choice between saying yes or likely being hurt.. but it was still a choice. 

And..

Well.. he was right. However she got here.. she had warmed to him. He was exciting. His attention flattered her ego. The times he’d spoken with her about the material in the books he gave her to learn had convinced her that she was in the presence of someone whose mental capacities were so far beyond that of the average wizard as to be almost incomprehensible to most others. 

There were times in which she hadn’t understood and he’d had to approach the issue he found interesting from a different angle in order to explain it to her. Those were the best conversations. 

She felt awe. For the most part, he had been preternaturally patient when explaining those things to her. She assumed that he was quite used to not being understood. 

And on occasion he could even be..almost..gentle. Considerate. Strange as that was. 

True.. he had hurt her. He’d punished her and that had hurt a lot.. and he’d sometimes caused her pain during sex or foreplay – and that had hurt too.. but it had been..good..at the same time.

She’d enjoyed it, most of the time.. Over the last weeks she’d even managed to stop feeling guilty for enjoying it. She liked what he did to her.. the things he forced her to feel..

Of course, it was entirely wrong and evil to say that she liked him.

Just because she tended to sleep through the time she was in the grand Hall these days and so hardly ever witnessed him cursing others, didn’t mean that it didn’t still happen. Of course it did. 

And..he was going to kill Harry.

He couldn’t kill Harry! She loved Harry! 

Somehow the alternative wasn’t particularly palatable either. If Harry killed Voldemort.. then she’d face a bland future in which the entire wizarding world would pressure her to date Ron and she’d have to watch while Harry married Ginny and probably became an Auror. They’d produce a mass of children in the shortest possible time and no doubt be sickeningly happy together. 

And she’d be a pariah for refusing Ron and would possibly either end up a mad spinster with a lot of cats – or worse - cause a massive scandal when she sought a lover who might give her what Voldemort had showed her she liked. 

The alternative was unthinkable. That she could be so pressured and so weak that she might actually relent and allow Ronald Weasley to date her.. propose to her.. marry her..impregnate her..

The horror of it. She would never be that weak, surely. The thought of endless quiddich themed discussions.. oblivious selfish ignorance all around.. Ronald would never understand why Wolliers fourth law of mass and density was fundamentally flawed. He wouldn’t care either. He didn’t care about anything much unless he could play with it, fly it or eat it.

She wondered whether she could add shag it to that list. After all.. the way he carried on with Lavender.

She shuddered. The very thought of Ron in bed. God – she tried to bleach the impression from her mind and was brought back to the present by a hand stroking over her hair lightly.

“Your mind is thoroughly entertaining at times, Hermione.. I’m certain I have told you before..” 

He sounded strangely tranquil.

“What do you believe might happen to you if I prevail?”

She blinked, her face against the hard warm silk covered shoulder. 

It was incorrect to say that she hadn’t ever thought about that. She had.. she just didn’t have the remotest idea. Maybe he’d kill her.. in front of everyone. 

She heard an incredulous sniff from the face above her own which was indescribably reassuring. 

Perhaps he wouldn’t keep her in a cage anymore. Maybe she’d have a room. She hadn’t the slightest idea what she’d be. Maybe just what she was now, whatever that was, only in a room

She’d always be a captive.. a pet.. In the world in which Lord Voldemort ruled – she’d never have any rights..or at best, any right’s she’d have would be directly bestowed by him because he favoured her. Other muggleborns would probably be killed.. or enslaved.. or tossed from the wizarding world. Whatever the Dark Lord might privately think about power and skill versus blood – he would rise to power on the notion that blood was of the most fundamental importance. Trying to change that at this late stage would only lead to a coup.. they’d tear him apart!

He could.. free.. her..

But she didn’t think that at all likely.

Besides.. if she were free – even if he promised her safety – she’d still be in more danger than she would be in a cage kept by him. Some pureblood would take issue with her treatment and decide to teach her ‘her place’.

It didn’t seem like there was any good option left for her life. Publicised sexual deviant in Harry’s world or caged doll in Lord Voldemort’s. 

“What would you like to do with your life?” he enquired softly. “If there were no war.. what course might you have pursued?”

She wondered herself.

“I suppose.. I might have asked Professor McGonagall whether she could recommend someone I might study under toward a Master of Transfiguration.. Or.. perhaps professor Vector.. I liked Arithmancy.. Or Runes..

I don’t think I would have liked to become a Healer.. or anything of that sort.. I could possibly have pursued training in ward design.

Then of course there’s the Ministry..”

“The Ministry?” he took up the point immediately. “What might you have liked to do there? What departments interest you?”

She hesitated for a moment and then sighed after a moment. It hardly mattered now..She wouldn’t be working in that department ever now. Not since she’d been studying dark magic under the present scourge of the wizarding world.

She felt his chest move beneath her as he chuckled at that thought.

“I...if I had achieved all O’s on my NEWT’s... maybe I might have tried to become an unspeakable..” she said softly. “I probably wouldn’t have made it in.. They don’t just want perfect grades.. no one knows exactly what they look for.” She continued hurriedly, embarrassed, “If not that department..perhaps the regulation of magical creatures. The way that werewolves are treated is shameful.”

The man beneath her was silent. She glanced up and found him staring thoughtfully at the wall of jungle plants..although he didn’t seem to register them. She waited patiently. Eventually he did speak.

“I do not believe you would be invited to become an unspeakable, Hermione. You have not shown the slightest talent for occlusion – which is among their prerequisites. And even were I to.. if I..” he faltered but continued a second later “In a world in which I did not prevail over Potter – the time you have spent with me would render you too great a security risk to pursue that particular career. They insist upon knowing everything about their recruits. They would pick through your mind in minutes and you would end your days in Azkaban, despised by the Wizarding world for the things you have done here.

In the unlikely event that I do not destroy Harry Potter – I strongly recommend you stay far from the Department of Mysteries. Cling to Potter. The boy is imprudent. He would protect you from their interrogations if you seemed emotionally shattered. And assuming that he had bested me.. the wizarding world would refuse him nothing.

She frowned. He had never before entertained the possibility out loud that he might not win. He was in a strange mood tonight. She didn’t know what to think.

In that moment, something large, smooth, cold and slightly rounded touched her foot. She jumped, yanking her foot up and darting upright to look at what it was. 

And then she jumped up further, almost climbing up onto the Dark Lord’s shoulder, yelping.

It was a snake. 

A really.. really.. big.. snake. Its head was almost bigger than her own and when its mouth parted, it showed wicked curved fangs as long as her finger. Its body was black; scales shimmering in the shadowy starlight. Red eyes reminiscent of the Dark Lord glimmered in the dark. She heard its low threatening hiss as it poured up onto the seat. Shrieking, she climbed up even further, considering running but unable to think of anywhere to run to. The safest place would be behind the man who lay relaxed below her panicking form. He was looking up at her with a richly amused expression on his rather flat face. 

“Please! Stop it!” she managed to get out halfway articulately. The snake continued approaching and now it was rearing its head up. Why wasn’t Voldemort stopping it?!. Did he bring her out here to feed her to the snake?! She whimpered and curled down into a ball by Voldemort’s shoulder, covering her head with her arms. Hopefully it’d choke on her if it tried to eat her!

She heard a series of hisses from the snake followed by a long stream of Parseltongue from the man against whom she was curling and cowering. He chuckled then. 

“Hermione.. Nagini will not harm you. Do stop making a fuss.”

She peeked under her arm and squeaked, discovering the enormous head of the snake hanging pendulously mere inches away from her. It was looking at her. She buried her head again, shaking violently. It didn’t matter if he said it wasn’t going to hurt her.. actually it didn’t even matter if it actually wasn’t going to hurt her. It was a massive snake. Just looking at it terrified her. It would have terrified her on the other side of a room in a cage. It was too big.. She didn’t even like normal sized snakes. 

“Hermione.. Get down. I am finding your behaviour tedious now. You are in no immediate danger.”

His tone was hard. It was his ‘brook no argument’ voice. And clearly she would be in non-immediate danger from him if she didn’t obey. But the snake.. It would be right there.. she imagined she could almost feel its breath on her. She shook her head and curled tighter around her knees.

“Imperio”

Soft warm fog soothed her mind. She lifted her head. There was an enormous snake inspecting her with interest. That was fine. Just lovely in fact. EVERYTHING was lovely.. all smiles and rainbows. 

She felt the sudden need to climb down off her perch and straddle the Dark Lord again. So she did. The snake moved back accommodatingly as she moved forward. When she had seated herself comfortably and wrapped her arms around the man beneath her, resting her head on his shoulder, the soft comfortable safe fog suddenly dissipated from her mind and she was reminded again of the huge snake that she had just turned her back to. She yelped and tried to jump up, but the arms around her were as implacable as steel bands. 

“Stop that at once.” The high voice demanded. “You are insulting her and I will not tolerate it any further. 

She looked up incredulously. Insulting her?! The SNAKE?! What the bloody HELL?! It was a massive snake – it probably saw people screaming and running away all the time. Who would be insane enough to remain where there was a snake like that there – the thing could probably swallow her whole!

The crimson eyes narrowed upon her disapprovingly. 

“I have already told you that Nagini will not harm you. Do you disbelieve my word?!” 

He hissed something to the snake and then the massive head was once again inches from her own. She froze in horror, imagining that wide mouth opening before it shot forward like a whip to bite her. 

A black forked tongue protruded briefly from the creatures mouth, tasting the air. As she watched, the Dark Lord’s pale graceful hand came up and stroked its huge diamond head affectionately. The snake’s slitted red eye shifted away from her to him and it moved slowly forward till it butted gently against his cheek.

He smiled and curled his arm around it in much the same way that his other arm was curled around her. She listened to them both hissing at one another. They seemed to be having a conversation.

A length of the thick black body was leaning on her back. 

They ‘spoke’ for a long time.

“Nagini has been with me for many years now, Hermione. She is a loyal friend..

She started slightly at his words again to her. The back and forth hissing had been soporific. When she looked up she frowned slightly. He looked almost melancholy. Something around the eyes.. 

“I was telling her about you. How well you have been progressing..”

The black forked tongue tasted the air and she saw the snake’s red eye was fixed on her again. 

Voldemort reached to his shoulder for her hand, gripping it firmly and lifting it. When he pulled it in the direction of the snake she struggled and panicked. 

She was almost ok if she could just lie here and be quiet and ignore the fact that there was this monster hanging over her.. she didn’t want to put any part of her body closer to that wide mouth. 

“Stop that.” He chastised mildly “you will trust me, Hermione.”

She looked into his blood red eyes. Trust Voldemort.. was it possible to do that? She sighed inwardly. Yes. It was. She did. At least.. she did to a completely unwise extent. 

Against all of her body’s best judgement and survival instincts she allowed him to guide her hand to the head of the large snake, allowed her fingers to be pressed down upon the hard, cold, shiny scaled surface and moved so that she was stroking it gently. 

The snake – Nagini – emitted a soft hiss and remained perfectly still. She was glad. If it had moved suddenly she thought she might have screamed and tried to escape again.

“You see.. she will not hurt you.” The Dark Lord soothed. “Is she not beautiful?”

Hermione shivered. When the hand around her own gently released her, she paused, swallowing and looking judiciously at the man’s face to determine whether she would be allowed to retract her hand to safety. 

Something in his expression told her that that was not what he wanted so she forced herself to continue stroking the large cold head. The corrugations upon it from the large black rounded scales reminded her of beetle shells from potions.

When the creature turned suddenly and the black tongue shot out and slicked over her wrist, wrapping itself slightly around it before retreating again she eeped and yanked her hand back, breathing fast in panic. She inspected her wrist.

Voldemort laughed softly. 

“It was.. a friendly gesture, Hermione” he told her. “She was..curious”

The snake hissed again and Voldemort nodded as if agreeing. He looked at her speculatively..and there was something in it that worried her. It was as if he was considering her degree of fit for a specific purpose. 

After a moment he pressed her lightly, urging her to lie down upon him again. 

“Sleep.. I would speak with Nagini for a while.. and I suspect the conversation will be rather uninteresting for you. 

In a mix of relief and anxiety she allowed him to guide her down against his robed chest again and felt his arm come to rest warmly upon her back. It was not cold in this little jungle area but she pulled her body in slightly till she was curled around him, one hand on his chest next to her face and the other half burrowed underneath him at his ribs. She heard the soft hissing conversation begin again and, hesitantly closed her eyes, not feeling at all sleepy.

Nevertheless she must have slept because it seemed like only minutes later that she was waking inside her cage.

She actually felt disappointed that he had brought her back without waking her. It would have been lovely to be in the garden a little longer – without the great big snake –

Feeling the slight ache in her bones that she’d gotten used to from sleeping on the hard metal floor of the cage, she sat up gingerly. 

She was wearing pale green gauzy layers today. The dress was strapless with a décolleté of flowers in the same material. It reached to her mid thighs. He must be in a good mood with her. She’d found she was only ever dressed in green when that was the case. 

The room was quite dim this morning – or whatever time it was. Only two torches were lit at the far end. Still she made out the goblet and the small bowl toward the opposite corner of the cage. Crawling over, she retrieved it. It held a fresh fruit salad. He must be in a very good mood then, she decided, picking out a slice of pear. 

It was glorious. 

Normally she did not receive breakfast. On the few occasions, except for Christmas, on which she had – it had invariably been some kind of cereal or porridge. 

The goblet contained pumpkin juice. She drank it slowly – she hadn’t been given a water jug, therefore it had to last. When she was finished, the bowl and goblet vanished. That, again, was unusual. Normally whatever was provided was there for a set period of time and then removed, whether she was halfway through consuming it or not.

She looked around the empty room and wondered just what she had done last night to please the man to this extent.

The thought recurred to her unpleasantly. It wasn’t what she’d done but what she’d agreed to do. He wanted her to kill again and she’d essentially said she would. 

Hopefully that wouldn’t be happening today though..

Her stomach revolved. Of course it would. That was the reason for her generous breakfast and the dress – she’d already been rewarded for the agreement last night when he took her to the garden. 

She leaned back against the silvery filigree and hit the back of her head against it lightly. Stupid. How did she get here?!

Remembering what he had said last night when she’d mentioned wanting to become an unspeakable – she groaned. 

If he was beaten by Harry (if and when he turned up finally) – she’d be completely screwed. There was NO WAY that the ministry would just forgo interrogating her after she’d spent months here. 

No matter what Voldemort said – Harry wouldn’t let her get away with not being interrogated and even if he somehow did – the ministry would never ever agree to it. 

They’d look in her mind.. or give her veritaserum.. they’d see..Lavender..and..the other man.. and they’d see what she did with Voldemort in his room so often and they’d see...what she was probably going to have to do today. See her kill five more people on his whim, using dark magic. 

And while she could argue with herself that she had no choice and that if she didn’t do it, he’d be furious and maybe throw her into a dark room alone for the rest of the time here.. maybe worse.. she didn’t think that that argument would mean anything to aurors or even to Harry himself. It was just..loneliness..it was just..boredom..it wasn’t actually physical torture.

After all.. He had barely harmed her since she’d been here. He kept her dressed like a perfect little doll..He fed her regularly and sufficiently with only few exceptions. He gave her books.. He hadn’t even.. really.. raped her..probably.. in their eyes. She’d said yes. 

No one would understand. Least of all Harry or Ron. 

She’d be thrown in Azkaban for the rest of her life!!

Even if she hadn’t killed anyone – even if she hadn’t used the unforgiveable – she knew for certain that at least three of the books she’d read so far were banned. Just having read them was a crime punishable with internment.

She was SO screwed.

 

 

When he walked through the door in the back of the Grand Hall some time later she was daydreaming aimlessly. Far from her earlier fantasies of being saved by Harry.. of kissing.. of being loved by Harry.. she was actually imagining a world in which Voldemort wasn’t a Dark Lord.. Maybe he had gone into academia instead of whatever he did to become what he was now. He was just an amazingly brilliant man and she had met at some kind of conference for ancient runes. He..could still be a little sadistic. Lots of people were, probably. That didn’t have to change..

Ok.. maybe he wouldn’t use unforgiveables on her..

But then again – as skilled as he was, he could probably easily find some way of shielding them from detection. 

She wondered what he’d look like if he wasn’t bald, marble white and noseless.. what he’d look like if he had a normal human eye colour.. normal pupils.. Somehow she couldn’t quite imagine it.

Voldemort had moved to seat himself in his throne. 

He didn’t look pleased at all this morning, which was strange – in light of what he was probably anticipating. She wondered vaguely whether the topic of her thoughts bothered him. 

Perhaps he didn’t like her imagining what he looked like as a regular person. He had seemed very snippy about her concerns with getting pregnant a long time ago.. maybe her imagining him as a human looking wizard bothered him in the same way – like it was some kind of slur against his current appearance.

Really it wasn’t. She had kind of..gotten used to..the snakey looks. He had a fantastic body too... She hoped he wasn’t upset because she’d imagined him looking differently.

“No.” he spoke quietly. 

Clearly he was listening then.

“I have..other things ..on my mind this afternoon, Hermione.” 

He paused and looked away. 

“I must hold several meetings... Afterward we will retire and you will study the curses. I will ...probably.. not test you tonight.

She brightened even as he rested his head back against the throne and closed his eyes with a tight expression. 

The pops of multiple apparitions resounded a short time later. She recognised two of the five men who had joined. One she recalled had once been referred to as Jonah by the Dark Lord. Another was Goyle senior. The other three ranged in age and appearance. She couldn’t remember having seen them before, but it was possible she had been sleeping. 

It turned out that they were reporting on something like caches or storage vaults or perhaps even safe houses? Military depots?. They were very vague in their descriptions. ‘The things you asked for’ and ‘the items required’, ‘the site’, ‘the location’ and so forth. Voldemort seemed to comprehend perfectly nonetheless. She wondered if each of them knew of the tasks of the other. It was possible that they did not. They each received equally vague and mysterious instructions before they departed. Voldemort instructed Goyle to use an expendible contact and have the second site made ready within the next two weeks.

After they left she could have sworn she heard him sigh.

She debated whether it would be wise to ask what was wrong. What other things he had on his mind. Although she hadn’t spoken, he shook his head slightly. 

“No.. it is nothing of significance. I am...being foolish. It will pass.”

It was more than disturbing to hear the Dark Lord refer to himself as foolish. She felt more worried than ever now!

When the next group arrived he cast a muffling spell. It shocked her and underlined the fundamental wrongness of everything today! 

He’d never bothered before whether she heard something or not! 

She couldn’t make out what was said but recognised most of those reporting. It was something to do with the ministry. And.. if she remembered the face of the last man correctly – possibly also something to do with the order or with Harry. The fact that he’d muffled it was troubling. If he didn’t want her to know – surely there had to be some reason. 

What exactly could she possibly do?! Was he concerned that she might speak out in protest while they were there or something? 

She hadn’t before in all the times she’d sat and listened to his comings and goings. 

Perhaps there was something about Harry that he preferred her not to know. Had he perhaps caught him? Or was he close to catching him? Or perhaps it was the other way around – what if he expected Harry might try to seek him out in person soon? What would that mean.. He’d destroyed all the horcruxes?

She felt her heart speed up.

No. No. She shouldn’t jump to conclusions. It could be something else. 

 

After the men finished their discussion and were dismissed, Voldemort stood and informed her – although he had never done so before – that his next meeting would take place elsewhere and that she was to sleep.. or if she could not, she was to feign sleep convincingly. 

He said he was confident that none of his servants would venture in here in his absence, however it would be wise if she were unresponsive. 

Then he drew his wand and placed additional wards upon her cage.

She was starting to feel afraid now. 

The days had developed a slow soothing routine and everything about today was breaking that routine in the most alarming way. She scooted to the bars closest to him

“What’s wrong?!” she demanded urgently. “Please... tell me.. I’m-...” She didn’t want to say she was scared. He probably knew anyway. She looked up at him through the filigree imploringly.

Surprisingly he relented and glided over to the cage, stopping on the other side of the mesh. He slipped his slender white fingers through a gap and she found herself leaning close to press her cheek to them, kissing them. It was automatic. Distantly, in the back of her mind she was aware suddenly of exactly how much she had altered since he first spoke to her, but it didn’t matter in the slightest. 

She was afraid.. afraid for herself.. afraid for him. She realised that she didn’t want Harry to win.. She didn’t want anyone to harm him.

The red eyes looking down at her softened and he withdrew his fingers again. 

“It is true.. we are moving closer to the end of this war..” he said quietly. “Soon he will come..”

She felt her heart skip a beat and then speed in panic.

“But not today.” Voldemort finished. 

“Do not worry, Hermione – You will be quite safe. My business today concerns finances and resources primarily... and my malaise relates to the passing of a dear friend. There is no reason for you to be alarmed. Be a good girl and try to sleep in my absence.” He offered a wan smile.

She nodded. She would try. She didn’t quite believe him that that was all that was wrong today – but she would obey and trust that whatever it was – he knew best.

Moment’s later, he had turned on the spot and was gone.

The room, now that he was no longer in it, became a dismal empty void once again. She sighed and moved away from the edge of the cage. Even the faint suggestion that someone else might come in here in the Dark Lord’s absence made her want to stay away from the filigree walls. 

She doubted she’d be getting much sleep now. Her head was swirling with thoughts about what was going on. The muffled meeting.. He’d said that Harry would be here soon.

What exactly did ‘soon’ mean.

Not Today. So.. what? Tomorrow? The day after? Next week?


	10. Chapter 10

Voldemort’s subdued, almost melancholy mood lingered on that evening. He virtually ignored her for hours as she inched her way through the, for the most part, revolting curses. The book gave her the strong impression that a collection of depraved minds had sat down and earnestly thought about what the most horrific ways to die might be.   
Which was probably the case.   
Voldemort worked at his desk all night while she read. A dark cloud hung over him it seemed. His flat face was grimly pinched and his brows tight as he seemed almost to physically grapple with whatever it was he was working on. There was a driven bitterness to it.   
She wondered whether whatever it was that he was so often working on was partly to blame for his mood – since she had grown increasingly sure that it was one thing that he kept returning to every evening and struggling with.  
He had always gotten irritable if she’d asked about it.

‘The plendis curse’, she read.   
She pulled the corner of her mouth up in a wry half smirk despite the gruesome nature of the subject matter..   
At the side there was a cartoonish picture of a laughing man hacking away at his own body with a knife. 

The curse rendered the subject suicidally morose. Self inflicted pain lessened this feeling, to the extent that the victim felt wonderfully happy.. elated even.. the more blood they shed. Hence the laughing man stabbing himself.   
The victims of the curse tended to either commit suicide via a fast magical or herbological means or would fall into a pattern of cycles: cutting and injuring followed by the resulting increased lucidity and the wish to survive, urgent healing which only reinstated the emotional torment and immediately led to renewed self injury..   
It sounded more than a little bleak, she mused.   
There was no countercurse, however victims had been preserved for several years through controlled and supervised self injury and deliberately prolonged healing. One could not live perpetually in that manner though - not least because the victim would become exhausted by the constant pain and healing and would eventually opt for a more final method of self-dispatch - but also because the curse degraded over time. The degree of pain and injury required to evoke a return to lucidity gradually increased until it was no longer possible to attain positive emotion or rational thought at all.

It sounded horrible, she thought. Who came up with that?!   
Well. Plendis, obviously, she reasoned. Unless that was the name of the first victim. It wasn’t specified. 

She glanced up at Voldemort again. He had stopped writing and was leaning back in his chair with a black expression. It seemed to hold equal parts disgust and hatred. While she watched his hand fisted tightly on the arm of the chair and he looked down as if restraining himself from an act of violence. 

She thought she must be imagining it - he looked..like tears were sliding down his flat face. Oh dear bloody god! Was Voldemort crying?!! What the fuck?! She must be losing her mind! Imagining this man crying was like trying to imagine her mother killing kittens. What the hell could have possibly brought Voldemort to tears?!

The slight glimmer she thought she’d seen on his planar cheeks was gone as if it had never been there and his expression cleared as if wiped.   
“Come here.”

Again she blinked, shocked. He never..ever.. asked her to come to him when he was at the desk. She’d quickly learned that he did not like her going anywhere near it. He was the only one who could near the desk or the bookshelves. Her place was on the bed. The rest of the room was for the most part off-limits.

Uneasily she shifted to the edge of the bed and got to her feet, moving to his side nervously.   
She was dying to just..glance.. to the side.. just to see a little bit of what he worked on all the time.. but she didn’t. Just being allowed over here was something special. If she tried to look, he’d punish her. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name.  
His red eyes were perhaps a bit..shinier.. than usual, she told herself. Despite his blank expression right now something was bothering him. 

He reached for her and assisted her, after a fashion, to climb up onto his lap and straddle him, pressing her down close against his chest and holding her.   
Strangely enough she had the strong feeling that what he sought right now wasn’t sexual release. He held her too close.. he was too still. It was just something in his posture that seemed to suggest that sex was the farthest thing from his mind.

He sat tightly embracing her against him for several minutes and she started to get more and more worried. 

When he spoke, his voice possessed a restrained sorrow that she had never heard there before.

“Nagini is dead.  
I have been anxious for her all evening.. Now I feel her absence. She has been killed.”

She startled.   
“How?! She was in that.. that.. jungle thing.. in the garden. Wasn’t she?! Last night.. There were incredible wards. Is Harry here?! Oh my god!”  
Her mind caught up with herself and she managed the barest gesture of humanity. Lord Voldemort had seemed very...attached to the great big frightening snake.   
“I’m sorry my Lord...for your loss. You said she was a friend...”

Voldemort sighed against her.   
“...Thank you” He murmured softly after a while. It sounded reluctant.  
“Several nights have passed since we were in the garden together, Hermione. It was ..convenient.. to assist you to sleep a little longer as I had much to do and no time to spend with you in the evenings. Two nights ago I moved Nagini to a location I deemed safer. I thought it best if my horcrux were far from me and difficult to reach.  
It appears I was wrong.”

Hermione nodded. She had not realised that the snake was a horcrux. The extreme wards around that part of the garden made more sense now.   
“But.. ..Harry isn’t actually...”

“No. He is not here. Not yet. Although.. it may be mere days now. I feel a sense of foreboding. He will not wait long.”  
The dark wizard held her even closer and she thought for a moment that he might have sniffed her hair.   
He bent his head and spoke softly against her ear   
“If you were obliged to choose between Harry and myself, Hermione... who would you save?”

She tried to pull away and look up at his face but he held her tightly against him. She could feel his face warm against her own.   
He seemed to want an answer.   
She didn’t have one.

Obviously the correct answer.. the answer he wanted to hear.. was him. That she’d save him rather than her best friend of six years – the nice guy.. the beautiful one.. the one who she’d sworn time and time again to fight to the death for. 

“I don’t know” she managed to squeak.   
It was the most truthful answer she could give. She didn’t know who she would pick. It felt like whoever she picked, she wouldn’t be able to live with the consequences.  
“Does it matter? I’m probably not going to be there when it happens.. and I have no wand anyway. What difference does it make?!”

She felt him take a deep breath.

“And if you had a wand?..   
...if we both stood disarmed and you held the only wand?”

She felt an unhappy clench in her gut. 

“I don’t know.”

She wondered seriously what she’d do. Why was he asking this now? He’d said Harry would be coming soon – was he thinking to somehow use her to help defeat him?!  
Oh god.. she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t draw down on Harry and curse him in Voldemort’s name. That idea made her feel like someone had kicked her in the stomach.   
But could she curse Voldemort?!   
She didn’t know if she could anymore. If she..wanted to.. anymore.  
The world with Harry, Ginny and Ron... versus.. her present life with Voldemort. 

Voldemort was worried. This was the second time he’d mentioned the standoff with Harry and sounded uncertain about the outcome. 

“Please don’t put me in that position” she whispered, unsure if she wanted him to hear it.

“And why not?” he returned, silkier than he had sounded a few minutes ago. “To what end have I shown you so much affection.. offered you knowledge.. allowed you to develop your repertoire of curses?   
You know you would rather remain with me than live in a world in which you are subjected to the Weasleys.. the daily prophet.. your muggle parent’s inability to comprehend you..   
...Harry Potters utter obliviousness to your feelings for him...His disinterest in you..”

She felt her heart stop.   
It was said so easily.. so cruelly.

He’d been grooming her.. training her.. for months.. to assist him to kill Harry?!!   
She was the one person Harry would never expect.

She remembered his words to Professor Snape.. Seeing her here would destroy Harry.

Oh god.

His hands moved her now limp form back. She saw that the familiar face wore a dark little smirk. His red eyes glittered sharply. 

“What truly remains for you in a world in which I am defeated?! They will never trust you again.. You will be alone..” 

His hand trailed up her back and under her hair, fingertips stroking the back of her neck in a way that usually made her shiver pleasurably. When she didn’t respond, they slid further up, into her hair, gripping and pulling her head back painfully.   
She winced and closed her eyes, feeling her heart pound rapidly, her breath grow shallow.   
He could arouse her so easily.. so effortlessly. He had truly trained her. She virtually dripped on command now. It took a mere touch.. sometimes it took nothing more than a look. 

It was possible to detect the warmth radiating off his skin as he neared, his face brushing her own, mouth tracing her jaw and then ghosting over her lips.

“Who will please you as I can, Hermione? Who will ...stimulate you.. as you require?..   
The rest of the wizarding world will not understand.. They will not want to discover that you have changed - they will protect you.. insulate you. Keep you a perfect, innocent muggleborn child forever.   
Every lover you take will treat you as an ornament.. fragile and valuable – to be displayed in public.. revered.. worshipped.   
...They will never touch you as you desire to be touch.. hold you as you wish to be held..   
...I alone know what you need...”  
His pointed tongue darted out and flicked up over her top lip.

It wasn’t true, she screamed out in her mind, even as she accepted the truth of it utterly.  
But it didn’t matter. What was one person’s loneliness in comparison with the suffering of thousands?! This was a war.

“Don’t ask me to choose” she whispered desperately, feeling the heat of his lips a centimetre away from her own.

“Where are you up to in the book?” he breathed against her mouth and she did shiver.

“It doesn’t matter!” she tried. “You said that Harry will be here soon.. if you’re only doing this because you want me to curse him – I’m not going to. I’m not going to fight at all. You’ve been wasting your time.”

He closed the gap, pressing smooth hot lips against her own. She could feel the way they turned up in a smirk and knew what he was going to do a bare moment before the pain arced through her, blinding and sharp.   
He held her tightly, preventing her from flailing, swallowing her scream in a deep, hungry kiss.   
The pain ended before the kiss did and she hated herself for the soft needy whimper she gave him as he teased her with his skilful tongue. 

He drew away, looking down at her appraisingly.

“What curse are you up to in the book?” he repeated. No doubt her next punishment would be more significant if she gave any response other than the answer he was looking for now.

Resigned, she answered “The Plendis curse”

He frowned slightly. “That is barely one third of the way through the volume. Have you been deliberately delaying?! I have observed you to read much more quickly.

“I was a little distracted today. You said ..about Harry coming.. and you’ve been sitting here all night glaring and I didn’t know why. And.. well.. yes. Maybe I’ve been reading a bit slower than I could have. I’m not looking forward to finishing the book.”

“Well then... you shall practice what you have learned every night until you finish the book or Harry Potter arrives to disturb our peace.” He tilted his head slightly and smiled again cruelly.   
“Your reading is complete for tonight. I will see five of the curses you have learned and then it will be time for you to go to bed. You will remain here with me tonight – and if you do not wish to spend the rest of the night in extreme discomfort, I advise you to cast the curses well and without hesitation and to abstain from moral pontification for the evening.

Hermione swallowed. He was using the ‘this is the way its going to be’ voice. There was no point in even trying to argue – it would only draw immediate punishment.   
Proper punishment. Not the little flick he’d given her for not answering immediately.   
She should have read a bit faster. He’d almost surely only decided to be such a complete bastard because she had been trying to avoid the unpleasant agreement she’d made.   
If she’d read more than half the book, maybe he would have just let it go for tonight. Maybe he would have laid aside his own work and taken her to bed.. 

He moved her off his lap and to the side, stood and stepped away to the bookshelf.. opening the door into the storage room. 

Watching nervously as his back retreated, she turned her head a fraction of an inch and let her eyes slide down over the papers on the desk.

At first nothing made any sense at all. There seemed to be an array of different seemingly unrelated things. Her eye fell on two pages.. they seemed to be about potions. They were both in his handwriting and there were some scratched out ingredients here and there but at the top of one was written – ‘82% success, November’ and on the other ‘61% October.’ They didn’t seem at first glance to be the same potion. Or even a modified version of the same. She looked quickly at the ingredients. Some of them she didn’t recognise. In the first potion, there was calla leaf and briny squirt gall though. Those were used in medical procedures involving the attachment of magical limbs. Was he working on something for peter Pettigrew? She had seen the horrible little man’s silver hand. It was creepy.  
But Voldemort seemed to despise and disdain him.. why would he bother?!   
The second potion was even more peculiar. It held hallucinogenic ingredients. There was distilled mescalin listed! What the hell?!

She looked on quickly to the next page in the array and found a list of spells. The Avada Kedavra was top of the list. The others... The others she recognised too!! Most of them were in the book of curses she had been reading tonight. One or two were crossed out. One was crossed out emphatically. She couldn’t quite make out what had been underneath the deep black ink scratches. 

Her eye darted up – he would be back any second. She could see his shadow moving toward the door. Her eye flicked down once more at the next pages.   
Without reading them closely she could see that one was a list of names – death eaters she presumed since some of them were familiar from briefings. A lot of those were scratched out too. The page beside it held a list of her friends. All the people she knew. She didn’t see which of those names were scratched out but there were lines connecting some of them.   
He was almost at the door.   
Her eye barely grazed the last parchments. They looked like...pages and pages of incredibly complicated arithmantic formula calculations and diagrams. On the chart on top, the most recent one, she presumed, there were dozens of variables coded insensibly in runes.. the intricacy of the lines was painful to look at. She experienced a bizarre little clench in her heart. No wonder he’d been frustrated and struggling with this if he was working on that. Calculations with five or six variables were difficult. She’d never seen one with more than fifteen. He had sixty or seventy at least! There were hundreds of different lines in those charts! Good god! He was brilliant! Why couldn’t he have been...someone else.. someone who didn’t become Lord Voldemort?! If he’d gone into research.. if he’d worked in the ministry even! 

“Step back!” he hissed coldly; his gaze dark as he moved through the doorway. “I trust your curiosity is now sated?! Move away from the desk.” 

She stiffened, frightened. He’d caught her.   
No, she realised, he’d known. He’d expected her to look before he went away. He’d allowed it!.   
She stepped back quickly, lowering her eyes submissively and wondering why after all this time he’d allowed her a brief peek at what he’d been working on. He’d reacted so violently to the idea before.

“Your continual preoccupation with it was like an itch in my mind, Hermione. Now you see and can appreciate that you are presently incapable of offering me any assistance. Your current level of skill in runes and arithmancy is insufficient to be of use.   
...Do not concern yourself further with it. I have almost resolved the imbalances. My work is nearing completion.”

Beyond her control, her eye slid back up to the ridiculously complicated arithmantic chart. She couldn’t make out any detail from here. It was a spirograph of lines.   
He’d solved that?! It was almost beyond the realm of possibility. He’d calculated a formula to balance all of those points?!

“Very nearly” he said dismissively and stalked over to her, holding her wand in his hand. “There are only one or two points that have proven troublesome. However.. I believe I can modify them sufficiently to solve the problem”

Her curiosity flared again sharply. She desperately wanted to understand everything about that chart. What were all the points? What was giving him trouble? What was the entire chart about?! Was he trying to forecast or to strategise?! 

His expression softened slightly and he reached up, stroking a finger down her cheek. “Sweet Hermione.. You are incapable of turning your mind away from things you do not understand..” He drew her close, gently, till her cheek was pressed against the warm robes on his chest. She expected to feel apparition but instead he sighed.   
“I suffer from the same malady.” His fingers played at her curls.   
“Do not despair.. one day, after the matter with Potter is resolved, I shall explain to you exactly what I have been working upon. I will foster your development until you are able to comprehend the reasoning behind my decisions.”

She thought about that with uncertainty. He was suggesting she’d never know unless Harry died.   
That thought bothered her a lot.   
With a shock she realised that it was because subconsciously she expected Harry to win! She still thought that he was going to defeat Voldemort! Her heart fluttered, panicked. She didn’t want this brilliant man to die.

As if he did not hear or were ignoring her thoughts he continued on, the soft murmur barely vibrating the chest beneath her ear  
“However.. at present.. I require your focus elsewhere. Show me that you are capable of casting the curses I have set you. Show me that you have the strength of will to end life, even when you would not choose to, if the option were given. You have made an agreement, Hermione.. Show me that you can uphold your promises.”

Hermione shivered, thinking of the other promises she’d made to Harry.. Ron.. Dumbledore.. to herself..

Apparition squeezed them both through the eye of a needle with a faint crack

 

 

The dungeons again. She could tell by the smell. 

This was a larger room. Torches flared as they arrived and she slowly unfolded herself from his chest, not eager to see what would await her here.

Turning, she realised that he’d obviously had this prepared.

Five people. Five victims. She’d agreed to five. There were precisely five here. 

And she knew every single one of them.

They were silenced it seemed, but from the look of horror on most of the faces at her gauzy green dress and silky styled hair..at the way she had been holding.. had been held by Voldemort – it was clear they were disturbed.  
Well.. Except for Luna..

Luna peculiarly enough, gave the impression that she had expected this. She offered a small wave, her chains clinking, looking otherwise exactly as she would have if Hermione had run into her in the library.   
She and Luna had never been..close..   
Hermione had always thought Luna was a bit unbalanced, in fact – although obviously she disapproved of the derogatory nicknames.   
The girl frustrated her. She would explain carefully with reasoned logical arguments how the ridiculous imaginary creature that Luna was telling them all about could not possibly and did not exist.   
Luna would listen to everything she said and then would shrug and smile and go on telling them about it. Her reasoning was not RATIONAL. Hermione could not handle people like that. The slight smile on Luna’s face right now was only further evidence that the girl was not quite sane. 

Professor McGonagall, next to her, was shocked.. stunned even, to see Hermione.. Obviously, she hadn’t expected this at all. Since she had known that Hermione had been abducted, it suggested that she must have assumed she was dead. Seeing her former student apparently unharmed in the Dark Lord’s arms was not evoking a relief reaction. In fact disbelief and disappointment flickered back and forth on her face. Hermione could see that the woman was trying to convince herself that it was a ruse. A trick of the Dark Lord to upset them all further.  
Her teacher looked virtually untouched. As if she had been plucked from the head table over breakfast. She still wore her robes. Barely a hair out of place.   
Seeing Professor McGonagall here was upsetting even without the added pain that she was shortly going to be asked to kill her. The Professor had always been something of a mentor to Hermione.   
She was such a reasoned and sensible person – and she’d always taken the time to answer any questions Hermione had had. She might have gone to Professor McGonagall for an apprenticeship, had the world been other than it was.. Swallowing, Hermione looked away from her.

On her Professor’s right, Hagrid was manacled at neck, wrists and ankles to the wall. He was shaking his head slightly, looking riotous and she could make out what his lips were saying. “No! No! Not ermione. I don’ believe it.” He struggled at his chains but they were solid and unbreakable. They clinked heavily.   
Hagrid looked like he’d been through a rough ride in a cement grinder. He was covered in bruises and cuts. His clothing ripped and torn. Her heart clenched, looking at him. So many afternoons spent with Harry and Ron, all three of them avoiding Hagrid’s inedible little cakes and laughing about something together. Hagrid was almost like.. family. She..couldn’t hurt him. 

Remus Lupin, chained next to Hagrid, looked like the slightest breeze might blow him away. He was painfully thin, he looked..broken.. His shocked eyes upon her were nonetheless heavy with terrible understanding. He nodded at her and almost tried to smile. It came across as queasy. 

She felt her face crumple in distress.   
Why was she doing this again?! What possible reason could there be for hurting any of these people?

Remus looked so.. tired.. so..unhappy.. Resigned to what was coming. 

The person next to him was not so composed. Molly Weasley was almost purple with rage and threw herself forward in her chains as if she wanted to attack them both. She was screaming something silently. Hermione didn’t even want to imagine what she might be calling her.   
Molly had always been politely stand-off-ish toward her at best; at worst outright insulting. Hermione remembered in fourth year when Ron’s mum had believed the horrible rumours started by Rita Skeeter. She’d always had the feeling that Molly thought that she was not quite good enough. That she was... subtly looked down upon. No doubt, if anything had ever happened between Ron and herself, Molly would have fought tooth and nail against it. 

Nevertheless.. was that a reason to kill her?! It wasn’t as if she would ever have anything to do with Ron anyway. 

She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up, blinking away sudden tears.   
Voldemort was looking down at her with something like compassion on his face.   
Behind it, there was calculation.

“Will you select who is to be first, or shall I?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head, her face tight. It wasn’t really an answer. More a general denial. A statement of how little she could even begin to cope with this.   
Why?! Why did he have to be so cruel?!

Unexpectedly, rather than cursing her, Voldemort turned her gently and pulled her back against him, as she had been when they had apparated in. She couldn’t help clinging and losing her grip on her distress, bursting into tears against his robes. A warm hand stroked her back over the gauzy dress.   
“I understand that it is difficult, Hermione” he murmured softly against her hair. “I have not selected these five purely to be cruel. Yes.. it should be a test of your strength and resolve.. but there are practical reasons for their elimination.” 

She shook her head against him. There weren’t. There were no reasons to kill Hagrid or Remus.. or her Professor or even a crazy seventeen year old girl or Ron’s somewhat bitchy mother.

“These five.. represent a threat irrespective how the duel with Potter might end” Voldemort insisted quietly. 

“Assuming I defeat Potter - McGonagall has taken over leadership of Dumbledore’s little terrorist group and has been doing rather a good job. I have been trying unsuccessfully to acquire her for months.”

Hermione furrowed her brow. Why would Professor McGonagall lead the order?! What was Professor Dumbledore doing?! Had he gone with Harry somehow? 

Hagrid has been courting the favour of the Giants – a faction which could make a decisive difference in the war.. Lupin, too, has been stirring discontent within the werewolves and the Lovegood girl has been providing information and articles to her father... engaging in a propaganda campaign.   
..Molly Weasley is the strength of Arthur – one of the most obstinate and least corruptible icons in the Ministry. Without her, he would be easily manipulated out of fear for his children’s lives.   
And ...in the..unlikely.. case that Potter were to defeat me.. You would find each of them constituted a threat to you personally.”  
He paused. 

She couldn’t help stiffening as she thought over what he had said. Unwillingly.. she could see the rationality in removing them.. when seen from his perspective.   
But they were..friends.. damn it. They were her friends! They wouldn’t threaten her personally if Voldemort was killed. 

“In the aftermath of my defeat.. Ronald Weasley would pursue you, as you yourself recognise, Hermione. And as a result, Molly Weasley would seek to discredit you rather than allow your dirty blood to sully their pure line. Though Arthur is rather patronisingly fond of Muggles, there has never been so much as a halfblood in the Weasley or Prewett bloodlines. Molly will not allow that to change. She would embark upon a “witch-hunt”, if you’ll pardon the term, to destroy you before she would allow it.”

Hermione looked up, startled. She didn’t want to believe it, but part of her acknowledged that it was probably true! She should have considered that herself. Perhaps on some level she had realised it but dismissed it.   
And Ron was so obstinate and idiotic, he’d refuse to see what was happening and would keep chasing after her even if she said she wasn’t interested. Or he’d get nasty – both of which would result in Molly doing all she could to hurt her

She blinked and drew back, looking blearily up at Voldemort. He nodded once slowly and offered her a soft smile, wiping away her tears with the smooth pad of a thumb and pulling her now damp curls out of her face  
“Luna Lovegood then.. You view her as unstable.. foolish.. Yet – she is a Ravenclaw. She sees things that others generally do not. She would recognise the change in you immediately. It would interest her.. as a puzzle. She would discover you. Perhaps she might reveal her observations.. perhaps not. There is the possibility she could choose to do so in her father’s newspaper, before the entire wizarding world. That constitutes a risk, do you not agree?”

Hermione turned her head, looking to Luna with a slight frown. Luna was watching them both with a faint smile, her expression thoughtful.

Yes. Ok. Possibly he was right. Luna often seemed to just know things that other people hadn’t recognised. Luna had come up to her once when she was feeling miserable because Ron had gone to Hogsmeade with Lavender and she’d told her she shouldn’t cry because she was very lucky not to have what she wanted.   
At the time she hadn’t really been in a particularly receptive mood to Luna’s cryptic tripe and no one was even supposed to know she might possibly fancy Ron a bit. No one else had noticed anything.. but Luna apparently had and had understood so much more about the situation than Hermione that she had tried to cheer her up by telling her she was better off without him. 

Yes. Luna might maybe notice that she was a bit.. depressed... or something.. if Harry killed Voldemort.

She wasn’t naive enough to think that she wouldn’t be utterly shattered if the man currently holding her were to die. It didn’t matter that he was a genocidal monster. He was her entire world.

“Lupin...” Voldemort purred, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her forehead, drawing her attention back from where it rested upon Luna.   
“Lupin tries to be a good man, Hermione. Thanks to neuroses about his halfbreed nature, he holds himself to a higher moral standard than most others.. Merlin forbid he allow his darker wolf nature to shine through.   
He is a man plagued by guilt and insecurity. He is also Potter’s godfather. He would do whatever it takes to protect him. Potter is his pack. The only one he has so defined who still lives.   
In the wake of your extended stay with me he would smell the change in you.. the dark magic.. the loss of innocence.. Perhaps he might wish to believe the best of you initially.. but he would plague you to talk with him about what happened here. He would be..’there for you’ constantly.. and he would watch you suspiciously for any sign of unusual behaviour.  
You are a very different witch than you were when you first came to me. And yet you are still so innocent that you would lack the ability to adequately conceal your changes. He would discover you and then he would be inwardly morally torn. In the end he would expose you. It would be the ‘right thing’ to do. Perhaps he would persuade himself that you are..ill..and require treatment. In truth however, you would constitute a threat to Potter in his eyes and pack always comes first for a wolf.”

She turned to Lupin and noted that the man had turned his eyes down and looked saddened. He nodded slowly, acknowledging it too and then glanced up at her. His eyes flicked between herself and the Dark Lord, and seemed for a moment painfully confused before he looked down again and his expression cleared back to the weary resignation he’d worn before.   
She could almost hear his thought. He had let go of his bewilderment, reasoning that it would not matter soon. He had accepted that he was going to be killed.

“Did you know, Hermione.. that Minerva and Hagrid attended Hogwarts at the same time as myself?” 

She hadn’t. She’d only known that Hagrid had been at school at the same time as him. She looked at him quickly and then looked back at Professor McGonagall 

“Hagrid was a year below me. Minerva was two years above me. She was head girl in her final year. If you can believe it – she was actually something of an inspiration to me... When I was in my fifth year I learned much through observing her failures and successes as head girl. Primarily her failures. Although an exemplary student, she was not especially well liked, and although she was.. to a certain degree feared by the younger students, she was not respected. She was too officious and chilly to truly win the support of the student body. She was also physically unimpressive, inexplicably preferring to hide every appealing physical feature she possessed as if she resented the fact that others could be influenced by physical attraction.”

Hagrid looked ropeable and seemed to be yelling something. Minerva ruffled herself mildly and narrowed her eyes at Voldemort, as if trying to imagine for a second the boy she must still remember. 

“There has always been a lot of bad blood between myself and Hagrid” The silky woodwind voice above her informed her.   
“I was responsible for his expulsion.. the snapping of his wand..”

Hermione had known this. Harry had told her about it in second year. Still.. to hear him say it himself... 

“It was actually an accident... The mudblood.. that is.. muggleborn..” He smiled thinly down at her “The thrice damned girl was hiding in the room while I summoned the basilisk from the Chamber of secrets. I did not realise she was there.. until it was too late. Then it was done and I was faced with a dead body on school grounds.

Hermione scowled at the phrasing he’d used. As if it was not the fact that he’d killed someone that was problematic, but the fact that it had happened at Hogwarts. And he meant it exactly like that, she knew. She could just imagine how “inconvenienced” he’d found himself after accidentally killing Myrtle. 

“I could hardly allow myself to be expelled! They would have snapped my wand!!   
I considered feeding her to the basilisk, but the absence of a body would not have satisfied the Aurors.. it would not have held Dumbledore at bay. There had to be a convenient explanation for her death.. 

...and the great oaf was always so fond of keeping dangerous creatures...   
He was mediocre in his classes. No great loss to the wizarding world.. and in the end it worked out best for all.   
Hagrid wanted only to work with his beloved beasts – and that is what he spent his life doing. I wanted to advance magical knowledge.. and on so many fronts, I have done so.   
An unfortunate mishap, rectified to the advantage of all.”

It was a testament to just how much he must have warped her mind that Hermione found part of herself agreeing with the logic. To take away Voldemort’s magic would have been a waste of brilliance. 

“You could have run...” she whispered. 

“And make do without my NEWT’s?” he asked incredulously. “I could not have gained legitimate access to the magical sites I visited after graduation without them. Several of them were extraordinarily highly regulated and required formal application to access... Had I been unable to apply as a legitimate graduate student, It is possible I might have lost the opportunity. Ashkentra, for example, was a parselmouth and had kept hidden a number of highly informative chambers in his lost temple – Including his library. I have learned wonders that no other will ever know.   
No.. I regret nothing, Hermione. And this is a deviation from the point at hand.   
Hagrid has always been Dumbledore’s’ and.. to a lesser degree Harry’s ally.. Ron and yourself were incidental. He is admittedly dim.. but If he had discovered your ...feelings...for me.. perhaps through one of the others.. If he had realised that you were truly mine.. he would have reacted in a manner more similar to Molly Weasley than Lupin. His hate for me is still strong. However he is not a diminutive little red haired witch, he is an eight foot half-giant without the use of magic. I can see him shaking you... lashing out.. forgetting how small and fragile you are.. I can see him killing you.. He would not intend to, certainly.. Nevertheless...” 

Hermione swallowed thickly. “He wouldn’t have..”

Hagrid looked unsure of himself. His eyes were wide and fixed on hers. He dropped his straining arms abruptly to his side. The thick chains.. thicker than her arm.. clanked heavily again.   
She wasn’t sure whether she quite believed Voldemort’s assertion about Hagrid but it was clear that Hagrid himself was considering whether it might be possible. He looked stricken and afraid.

“Whether he might have restrained himself is a moot point. He would not support you over Harry and he has an inability to preserve secrets. If he learned of someone’s – perhaps Remus’.. perhaps another’s suspicion, he would be discussing it with complete strangers at the leaky cauldron within days. The man is unreliable, Hermione, however much you may ‘feel sorry’ for him.  
...So ..to Minerva finally...   
A stickler for the rules, now as ever. She would have advocated subjecting you to interrogation in the wake of your rescue..purely as a formality, you understand. She would never have truly suspected you of betrayal. She would however have persuaded Harry to follow protocol. He is an impressionable boy.   
If you were interrogated under veritaserum.. Azkaban would be a matter of certainty, obviously.   
I am unsure whether Harry’s influence would be sufficient to free a murderess who was also Lord Voldemort’s lover..” He smirked faintly, his crimson eye roved over her suggestively.  
He hesitated then and the smirk drew down into a thoughtful expression.  
“Assuming the boy even tried, that is... It is likely that the shock might drive him far from you.. He could turn upon you just as the others would.   
Minerva is therefore...dangerous. Without her influence, Harry would protect you if you asked him to.”

She did see what he was driving at. And ..perhaps.. he had made some pertinent arguments. They were dangerous to him if he prevailed.. and they were dangerous to her if he did not.   
Still..   
Seeing that and picking up a wand and cursing them were two different things, weren’t they.

“No Hermione. It really is quite simple. When you perceive an existential threat – you must act without hesitation to remove it. And that is what you are here to do.   
I could dispatch them. Certainly. But I wish you to do so. Show me that you have the sense to protect yourself.. Show me that you are capable of obeying me even when the task is distasteful to you.”  
He examined her with narrowed eyes, apparently noting her continued reluctance.

“Perhaps.. we might begin with..Molly.” He prompted, turning her slowly so that she leaned with her back against his chest. He pressed her wand into her hand gently, then leaned close and whispered against her ear “Morriers modified internal disintegration curse. I wish you to use the original - not Grigori’s version”

Her mind rebelled against the instruction. She knew which curse he meant. She knew how to cast it. But it was a horrible thing. It was horrendously painful and took minutes to kill. Anheus Grigori had made its progress ten times faster. Grigori’s was the more humane spell.  
She felt the thrum of her magic. Holding her wand was comforting in an illogical way. She felt, irrationally, as if she had more control over the situation simply because she held it.   
Voldemort’s arms wound around her waist gently, holding her to him. He kissed the side of her neck lightly. She wasn’t sure anymore whether this was a comforting lover’s embrace or a parody of such. He was not bothered at all by killing. Perhaps this was..romantic.. or something.. to him.. Sharing this little moment together.   
It certainly seemed to disgust three of her ‘victims’. Remus was not looking up at her and Luna just looked clinically interested But Minerva and Hagrid looked revolted and Mrs Weasley herself looked like she wanted to spit on her and curse her.  
Hermione grimaced slightly and tried to steel herself to raise the wand.   
Her hand just did not want to rise up to point at Mrs Weasley.

“Hermione..” he admonished softly.

When she continued to delay, struggling with herself, he raised a pale hand and casually waved off the silencing spell on Molly Weasley wandlessly. 

The woman, who had been mid silent-rant, was suddenly audible. Hermione flinched at the harsh sound of the familiar voice.

“-ALWAYS KNEW YOU WERE A FILTHY CORRUPT THING. I tried to tell Arthur that we needed to keep Harry and the children away from bad influences like you. A greedy manipulative, SLATTERNLY little mudblood.. but then your kind are all animals. To think you’d even gap your legs for a...a...creature like that.. The murderer of the wizarding world. Not even human. You’re worse than a death eater. A death eater has PRINCIPLES.. You’ve betrayed us all! The dementors kiss is too good for you! If you think I’d let you pollute my family.. you’re not even good enough to speak to real witches and wizards. To think – you sat at our table. I allowed you to sleep in Ginevra’s room with her. I should never have listened to Arthur. I should have stuck to what I knew was right. If I’d have had my way in the beginning, this wouldn’t be happ-“

Voldemort silenced Molly again and then returned his arm to the other one holding her. She was shaking.   
“You see, Hermione? Why are you hesitating? The woman has clearly stated that she would, if she had had her way, have separated you from your friends when you were only eleven. She has hated and looked down upon you from the first moment – before meeting you, most likely.. She would harm you, no matter how kindly you might treat her.” 

Hermione saw. And it was the unfairness of it, more than any actual reciprocated hate, which raised her arm slowly till her wand was levelled at Molly. 

The woman shut up and looked quite horrified for a moment, but the expression soured into contempt. Hermione couldn’t hear what she was saying but she imagined that it was something nasty. 

”Istirpinkite viduje” she whispered numbly. 

A pale blue whisper of light flashed from her wand and struck the Weasley matriarch in the middle of her large pillowy bosom, knocking her back against the stone wall behind, where she sagged for a moment in her chains before her hands flew to her chest, clenching, pressing. It reminded Hermione of someone having a heart attack or a very bad case of indigestion. 

Hermione couldn’t hear the screams but she saw the woman’s mouth stretched wide and her chest moving like a bellows. She was clearly screaming her lungs out. Well.. probably. Mrs Weasley’s lungs, along with every other internal organ, were currently converting themselves into a very fine powder, so it was debatable.

Voldemort kissed her below her ear and his arms around her tightened momentarily as if cuddling her.   
“Good girl” he whispered against the curve of her ear and she couldn’t help shivering at the sensation. The Dark Lord must have felt her reaction because his hot tongue flickered out a moment later and teased her again.   
Even though she was watching Molly Weasley drop to her knees, the light fading from her eyes, she couldn’t help the shudder of pleasure. It was as if he’d trained her body to respond independently of her mind. She could not help becoming aroused when he touched her. It felt dangerous and sweet and yes.. dark..   
Whether from Voldemort’s teasing..or perhaps more likely, from the use of the dark magic..so much darker than the other curses she’d used on Pansy and the muggle.. she felt like her entire body was humming with wild joy. It was the kind of joy that comes from closing your eyes when riding a bicycle.. A frightening and dizzying pleasure that you know will most likely end badly.   
It made her ache for the powerful man behind her, holding her so tightly.   
He was right. No one else would ever be able to give her what he could. She wanted him. All the time she wanted him. It was a hunger that was never satisfied. Even now, with Mrs Weasley’s lifeless corpse slumped at her feet, her sex was damp and her inner muscles tensing in want of the man who’d commanded her to kill.

And as Remus’ head shot up, his nostrils flaring and eyes narrowing, shock all over his face, she knew he knew she was aroused. He could smell it. Shame washed over her like a tidal wave.

“Silver needles curse” was whispered against her ear, punctuated by a small kiss, and she tried to tell herself that the soft purr of the man behind her didn’t make her long to get this over with so that she could have him inside her again. 

Remus looked terribly afraid. He had heard the whisper, she guessed. The silver needles curse was even less humane than the painful internal disintegration curse. It caused hundreds of silver needles to fly from the caster’s wand into the victim’s body, where they would swim and jump and play like trout in a crowded river. In the end the victim’s body ran with blood, threaded inside and out with tiny holes. Sometimes the needles swam up the throat to the head and in and out of the mouth, nose and eye sockets, but they would never attack the brain cavity - a modification intended to preserve suffering for as long as possible

“No.. something else.. please!!” she whimpered. “Remus doesn’t deserve that.”

The arms around her tightened, the small show of strength transforming the embrace into something claustrophobic.   
“Do as you are told” he instructed coldly 

Her hand shook and she tightened her clammy grip on her wand.   
“please..” she whispered and used the word that he liked to hear most of all - “please...Master. For me.. if not for him..”

Remus eyes met her own and behind the surprise she detected something like gratefulness in them. 

“For the sake of argument...Which spell would you favour?” the high cool voice behind her asked curiously.

She tried to think. Something painless.. something painless. Her mind went to the most recent spells she’d seen – those listed on the parchment she’d seen on the Dark Lord’s desk.  
“Xerces eraser?” she tried hopefully.

Voldemort snorted disdainfully.   
“A very ..compassionate.. spell. I thought as much”

“Please..” she murmured, turning her head to look up at him.   
His marble white flattened face was unreadable. Crimson eyes were narrowed upon Remus Lupin but slid down to her a moment later.

“If I allow it.. you will use its brother upon the half-giant”

She stiffened. The spell he was referring to was a melting curse. Xerces had first created his eraser, which did just as it promised, it erased the victim in a smooth progression from top to bottom. There was no pain, the victim might as well have been vanished. Its brother was a modification.. a nasty modification to the curse, which the dark wizard had obviously felt to be too humane. Instead of vanishing, it melted flesh to liquid that then evaporated, much like a paraffin candle. And more importantly, instead of moving from the top down, i.e. taking the brain first.. it began from the bottom and moved upward. It was terribly painful.  
She was fairly certain that both of Xerces curses had been on Voldemort’s list.   
As had the silver needle curse for that matter.   
Yet she did not have the feeling that the list represented a narrowing down of the spells he might ask her to perform tonight. The killing curse had been on the top of the list, for a start! It didn’t seem to add up exactly.   
While she tried to remember more spells that had been on the parchment and think of commonalities between them, her eyes wandered up to rest upon Hagrid. No doubt he hadn’t the faintest idea what spell was being referred to. Remus was trying to speak. He was shaking his head so she assumed he wanted her to refuse Voldemort’s ‘compromise’. Hagrid next to him was just looking confused and worried. 

“Decide” The familiar woodwind voice demanded quietly. “One will suffer, the other will die ..comparatively peacefully. Which halfbreed is more deserving of mercy?”

The understanding, compassionate, resigned look in Remus’ eyes was painful to see. She realised that she was basing her decision not upon who deserved more mercy – because, really - they both did. Neither of them should even be here. She was deciding based upon comprehension. Remus understood the curse being discussed and had given his acquiescence. Hagrid had not. She didn’t want to face the shock on Hagrid’s face for several minutes as he melted, wracked by inhuman agony. 

“Cerebrianie stejkie” she whispered hollowly, her wand trained on Remus. 

She felt a sudden vibration go up the wood as the needles erupted from the point and flew like locusts toward the werewolf. When they reached him and dove beneath his flesh she couldn’t watch. Knowing she was a coward and a traitor to her friend, she quickly moved the wand to aim at Hagrid and let fly Xerces eraser. Then she closed her eyes tightly, sickened by the mad rush of pleasure through her body which she now could no longer tell herself came from the embrace of the Dark Lord... No – it was the dark magic. The manic joy she was feeling was the taint sinking into her magical core. It was the madness that had driven Bellatrix Lestrange loopy long before Azkaban had wilted her beauty.   
The sensation of corruption, she was unable to deny, felt so..so.. delicious. So wrong and damned and unnatural but so inescapably..seductively.. pleasurable. 

She heard Voldemort’s delighted laugh behind her but thankfully, Hagrid and Remus remained silenced so there were no screams.   
She could almost tell herself it wasn’t happening if not for the heavy dull clanking that her mind extrapolated was the sound of Hagrid’s manacles falling down against the wall as they were no longer held up by limbs. 

It must be over, she thought, when she was nudged to face further to the left. She risked a peek. Hagrid was entirely gone, as if he’d never been there at all. The relief of that was marred by the sick punch she felt in her stomach at seeing the blood drenched crumpled body of Remus. He was slumped on the floor, only held up by the restraints around his wrists. The holes all over him were invisible since it looked like he’d been dunked in a vat of blood.   
His face..   
It seemed the needles had indeed swarmed up his throat to attack his face too. It was almost unrecognisable. He was destroyed. She felt sick. Remus.. He’d given them all hot chocolate and spoken with them for hours in front of the fire in Grimmauld Place. She couldn’t think of a single thing she really held against Remus..  
Or Hagrid for that matter.  
There wasn’t even a body. She didn’t know if giants buried their dead or how that worked..   
it was terrible. How could she do this?! What was wrong with her?! She deserved the things that these people might have done after Harry won. She deserved Azkaban. She’d killed people. She’d tortured..and tonight.. she’d enjoyed it. Committing these ghastly – no they were evil – acts. She deserved to be locked away forever. 

“You have done well thus far, Hermione. If not for the fuss that I specifically instructed you not to make, I would be exceptionally pleased with you tonight.   
Come.. Finish the others and we will return to my chambers for the night. I wish to see Juellers inversion curse on the girl and... I think Minerva will enjoy ‘the fire within’. She has always been such a cold fish. We might thaw her slightly at the last.”

Luna frowned slightly. Hermione didn’t know whether she knew of the inversion curse. Surely it would warrant more than a mild look of consternation to know that your entire body was to be turned inside out?! Even Professor McGonagall had reacted with horror hearing it! 

“..something else.. not the inversion curse..” she pleaded softly. 

She felt the chest behind her move as Voldemort snorted, annoyed.   
“Your whining is beginning to bore me, Hermione. Do as I have required of you.”   
He sounded irritated. She knew she was pushing her luck now. He used this voice when she was just a step away from punishment.

Still she hesitated. The inversion curse was beyond horrible. Probably the worst of all. What had Luna done to deserve that?!

“She does not fear it. Nor does she fear me. Why should I offer her mercy?! She has achieved nothing that would justify her insolent forwardness. But.. if you insist. Cast the fire within upon the girl. Minerva is a Gryffindor – she would no doubt wish to offer the poor..sweet..deranged little Ravenclaw the more merciful death.”

And Professor McGonagall was indeed nodding emphatically, although she looked like she might be sick at any second. 

Luna seemed entirely unmoved and even offered Hermione an encouraging little smile.

Irrationally, for a moment, Hermione found she wanted to go over and slap the girl. Was Luna really that nuts?! That she didn’t even care?! She was about to be killed. Horribly. Unfairly. By someone she’d considered..if not a good friend then at the very least a frequent acquaintance. Couldn’t she at least have the courtesy to look a bit annoyed.

She heard Voldemort give a very soft low laugh and shrugged it off, irked.   
It wasn’t that she was actually wanting to see crying and screaming and pleading – no she hated all of those – but it was just not right for someone to skip gaily up to the gallows, metaphorically speaking.

A moment’s hesitation and then she raised her wand against Luna. The blonde smiled again and Hermione felt her last nerve snap.

“Pyrosangua!” she very nearly snarled. The dark rush was almost overwhelming this time. She reeled and gasped, her eyes slipping closed through the unexpected wave of ecstasy, feeling invincible and wondering what had been different. Was it the curse? Was she just more sensitive to it now? She opened her eyes and blinked, almost surprised, at the writhing, silently screaming form of the girl with whom she had so long ago had very frustrating one sided arguments in the library.

“it was not the curse, Hermione-” The smooth voice murmured next to her ear. She could feel his warm lips millimetres from her skin.. his breath ghosting over it. His hands were stroking her abdomen in a manner that felt pleased and possessive as if she were an object of value to be protected.   
“The curse itself was of little relevance - It was your state of mind while casting which brought about the effect you are presently enjoying. At least.. you certainly appear to be enjoying it..   
For the first time you embraced the act.   
Your scattered and indecisive will..your insistence upon viewing the spell as something you were forced to cast.. dampened the effect of the dark magic on the previous occasions you employed it.   
There is a fundamental difference between will and desire, Hermione. Will is required to successfully cast many dark curses – most notably the killing curse...however desire...desire is refracted through dark magic into pleasure.   
You will find...it can be even more satisfying than this. Your desire to curse Luna was a small and fleeting thing. True desire has the power to render the act very nearly a transcendental experience.”

“Oh.” She said in a small voice and swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the faint curiosity at just how much better it could feel. It didn’t matter how good it felt. It was wrong. The pleasure was at the expense of someone’s life!  
Luna’s struggling form had finally ceased moving and Hermione almost sighed in relief. The blonde girl was lobster red from the boiling of her blood. 

Casting the curses was not difficult and as practical exercises went, she had always done well at performing a spell on the first try – but the nature of the spells was upsetting.. She didn’t like watching their effects. It was better when things were peaceful. It was...better.. after the curse was finished..   
If it weren’t for Professor McGonagall’s accusing, and incongruently pitying, eyes, she could almost feel calm again now. 

Voldemort’s voice interrupted her maudlin discontented musing.   
“Finish this now – eliminate Minerva – I am impatient to have you twisting and moaning under my wand..”

Hermione shivered. Yes. She wanted that. He sounded pleased with her. It was always very very good when he was pleased. 

When she looked up, Professor McGonagall had her eyes closed and she realised, with a start, that the older Witch had tears sliding down her cheeks. She wasn’t sobbing or gushing, nevertheless..the sight of those tears on the face of the woman who was never anything other than a rock of calm and control, was worse than everything that had come before. 

“Well well.. How delightful. A parting gift, Minerva?! I thought never to see your craggy features crack.”

Professor McGonagall glared over Hermione’s shoulder with watery eyes.   
Surprised, she felt the shift as Voldemort waved the silencing spell away. “No doubt you will have last words. It would be inexcusable of me to prevent you your final cutting, judgemental remark.”

Hermione watched, anxious and more than a little afraid to hear what her former Professor might say. 

Professor McGonagall’s eyes flicked between them both, resting heavily on Hermione for a few seconds before returning up to the pale serpentine man behind her.

“You have committed no more unforgiveable crime than this, Tom.”

Hermione heard the man behind her sniff contemptuously. 

“Oh.. I do not refer to the deaths.. No.. I am certain you have killed many others, no doubt with far less mercy. No.. I was speaking of what you have done to Hermione Granger.. the..transformation you have wrought upon her. To take a young, muggleborn witch, Harry Potter’s best friend no less, a witch who was so bright.. not simply intelligent but brilliant.. and good.. a truly admirable girl... To reduce her to ...this.. is inhuman.”

Hermione stiffened. She wanted to say..something.. something to excuse herself.. Something to defend the things she’d done.   
There really was very little she could say.   
She had been bored with the emptiness of waiting in the cage and fascinated by the dark, powerful mystique of the enemy everyone had spoken of in hushed tones for the formative years of her life. When he’d introduced her to exhilarating sensations that she’d never tasted before and knowledge she would never have the opportunity to acquire anywhere else.. she’d been hooked very quickly.   
Oh..she’d known what she was doing – there was no way to plead ignorance. 

She’d done it for him.. 

No.   
She’d done it for herself – because she wanted to please him. 

When he was pleased with her.. when he was impressed with something she had done or some idea she had presented while they discussed the books he gave her.. it felt better than receiving an O in her exams. It felt better than the backhand-compliments she had occasionally received from Professor Snape. It felt better than...   
it felt better than laughing and talking with Harry and Ron by the fire in the common room.

And.. perhaps.. she might not actually want to curse anyone, particularly. She might have preferred not to hurt any of the people he’d demanded she kill tonight..  
But... then he did kind of have a point about the threat they each represented.   
As much as she loved them all.. she could think of many examples in which each of them had shown the behaviour he’d labelled them with.   
Professor McGonagall was usually a stickler for the rules. Harry was the only one she allowed to ‘get away with’ blatant rule breaking.   
Maybe.. maybe if she had gone to her independently and explained exactly what had happened... But it was a very iffy maybe and she doubted, under the circumstance that Harry won, that she’d have the opportunity to go galavanting around visiting who she chose.   
Something occurred to her again. Why was Professor McGonagall supposedly running the Order of the Phoenix?!

Voldemort stepped away from her, smoothly confiscating her wand as he did and tucking it into his robes.   
She wrinkled her forehead. She hated it when he took it away again. And why was he doing it now?! Didn’t he want her to curse Professor McGonagall? 

She watched him glide closer to the manacled elderly witch with what she recognised was his ‘cat playing with mouse’ expression. He enjoyed toying with death eaters sometimes before punishing them. He was toying with Professor McGonagall now. 

“I have always found it fascinating, Minerva, how you arbitrarily dismiss brilliance when it is not accompanied by naive innocence.   
Hermione is as brilliant as she ever was; as intelligent.. as..passionate. She is merely no longer the tool of that lemon drop sucking old fool and his poor doomed little puppet.   
And as far as engineering a transformation – I have not forced her hand. She came to me willingly..   
...she desired me.   
For months I listened to her wistful, curious thoughts and felt her watch me with such innocent hunger.   
Months she waited, protected from the appetites of the rough men who serve me. You might have regained her, had you chosen to act at that time..   
But I understand, Minerva. In the wake of Albus’ death – it was too considerable a risk to send order members into the heart of my domain to reclaim ... How did you refer to her? A young muggleborn witch – best friend of Harry Potter – a brilliant, admirable girl. You had.. no choice.. but to forget her; to leave her to her fate.”

Hermione reeled. 

“Professor Dumbledore is dead?! When? How?!” 

Why had the Dark Lord never mentioned it?! Surely he would have been overjoyed. She’d never noticed anything!

Lord Voldemort turned to her, a predatory smile on his planar face. 

“I did not mention Albus’ death because it occurred shortly before we became..more intimately acquainted, Hermione.   
If you had not already lost interest in the contents of the numerous meetings to which you were witness.. and had you not been rather distracted over the course of the subsequent months, you might have noticed that Albus was rarely mentioned by my death eaters after that point. Although.. I concede that they only infrequently use names. It was perhaps easy to misconstrue, lacking much of the context to interpret the briefings I receive.  
It should have been Draco Malfoy who dealt the final blow, however the boy was weak and Severus was obliged to step in and finish the task.   
...I regret only that I could not be there.   
Although I have the memories of my servants to savour, it is not the same.” He looked discontented. “Alas, it is a moment I cannot reclaim.”   
“...It was through that regret that I determined to change my plans regarding you. I had intended you to serve quite a different purpose. At present I remain confident that I made the correct decision as to your fate.”

At present.   
She stayed hanging on those two words.   
What had he planned to do with her?! He’d seemed to suggest earlier that evening that she was expected to fight against Harry for him. That that was the reason he’d plucked her from the cage.  
At present he did not regret doing it. As if it might change at any moment.

Professor McGonagall spoke up, fixing the Dark Lord with cold eyes and a wan secretive smile. “You are silver tongued, but you have always been an arrogant boy, Tom! It was so in school and it is as true now. You may think you have twisted her around your bony finger but Miss Granger is not.. and never was.. a tool or a puppet. She has never been under the thumb of Albus Dumbledore or Harry Potter. She chose to help Harry and the Order out of affection and her own strong principles!   
Perhaps she has been led astray.. – persuaded to do things that are against her nature.. but she will show you in the end! She will show her true principles, Tom. I would stake my last knut upon it. When the moment of truth arrives, Hermione will do what she knows to be right.”

The elderly witch’s face had taken on a rabid fervour. She believed what she was saying.   
It unsettled Hermione. Professor McGonagall hadn’t given up on her.   
But ..she couldn’t know all the things she’d done. She was just using the words to lash out at Voldemort. It wasn’t truly about her at all.   
She flinched when the bright, tear-glistening blue gaze was turned upon her, striking her with the force of a blowtorch. 

Hermione! You are not ruined! This is not your only choice. The wizarding world will not scorn and punish you, no matter what this snake might wish you to believe. We – your friends would never have allowed you to be judged so harshly. Not after so long in the company of this fiend. I am so sorry that we did not try to save you, Hermione. I won’t offer reasons or excuses.. you are intelligent enough to reason for yourself and, no doubt, others will explain the situation to you when this horror is over. Simply know that I wish more than anything that there had been a way.   
Do not give up! Fight for what-“

The sickly brown flash struck the Professor in her left shoulder and the rest of what she had sought to say was subsumed in screams. 

Hermione turned away, closing her eyes and putting her hands over her ears. She didn’t want to see.. didn’t want to be aware of it at all. He’d used the inversion spell after all. Even with her fingers in her ears she could hear the way the screams became gurgles and then were overcome by gristly snapping sounds and splashing. She wished she could switch her mind off as easily as she could close her eyes.   
Warm hands gripped her own and tried to pull them away from her ears. She struggled to keep them where they were, shaking her head emphatically and hoping he’d stop. He ignored her resistance and dragged her hands down by the wrists. Glorious silence filled the room. Tentatively she opened her eyes. It only took a brief glance over her shoulder that caught the moving twisting redness in her peripheral vision, to know that it wasn’t over. He’d merely silenced what was left of Professor McGonagall.   
The tall monster before her released her wrists, looking down upon her. He seemed irritated.

“Minerva was always a self righteous witch” he muttered. “and wilfully deluded.” He added with rancour. “Never doubt that she had her own agenda –or rather followed Albus’ agenda – and within that agenda – your well-being was only marginally more sought than my own.”

Hermione nodded on general principles. She didn’t want to talk about Professor McGonagall with him. She had cared for her and the last words that her former Professor had offered did not leave her cold. The confidence with which Professor McGonagall had insisted that she would do the right thing in the end... the surety in her voice was intimidating. There was no right thing. If she did something to help Harry then Voldemort would die. And vice versa. She didn’t want either of them to die really, if she was honest. Why wasn’t there another way?!  
“Just don’t make me look. I don’t want to see it.” 

Voldemort smiled thinly again  
“I am not pleased with your behaviour tonight.” He cupped her face as if inspecting a naughty but adorable pet. “First you knowingly disobey in order to satisfy your own curiosity regarding my current magical workings, something which I allowed to occur and might have forgiven, had you not then insisted upon making a fuss about the task given, although instructed not to do so.. and then finally you do not complete your task, refusing to use the curses I wished you to use. I should not have been obliged to finish your work here.”

“I’m..” She stopped. She’d wanted to say she was sorry but she didn’t think she was exactly.   
“why did it have to be them?! I know the reasoning – but why did I have to do it?! If you just wanted them dead, you could have done it without even telling me. You do most things without telling me. You knew it would be painful for me to have to hurt them. Why?!”

The abbreviated smile faded from the lean serpentine face as his eyes narrowed.   
“Do not challenge me, Hermione. It is not your place to question my decisions.” He gripped her upper arm tightly and she wanted to wince. He was strong and fully aware of his own physical capabilities. Hurting her was always intentional – he was never clumsy or thoughtless. She was sure that he was the most controlled and graceful person that she’d ever known, as well as the most ruthless.  
“This was not a test of your ability to perform curses. No.. I knew before I set the practice that you would perform every curse flawlessly, provided motivated to do so. Your ability to learn and to translate theory into practice is formidable. This was a test of your ability to obey my orders when they directly counter your own preferences... and your performance was disappointing. You obliged me to involve myself.. persuade and reason with you.. you refused instructions, you haggled.. and in the end I was forced to finish the task for you.   
I do not think you deserve to be rewarded tonight...”

The apparition ripped her away. It was really a lot worse when she was dragged by one arm as opposed to held gently. She was still disorientated when she was tossed to the floor at the foot of the Dark Lord’s bed, landing hard upon her thigh. A faint click barely registered in her mind until she tried to lift her hands to brush her tossed hair from her face and discovered that she couldn’t. They were manacled to the floor near the bedpost. 

“You will remain there tonight and think about your failure. Tomorrow.. if I am not interrupted by the infernal saviour of the light, I will give you another opportunity to show obedience to me. Goodnight, Hermione.”

“WHAT?!!” her better judgement had obviously stepped out for a while because she found herself yelling at him. “You’re PUNISHING me after I did what you WANTED?! WHAT THE HELL?! You are SUCH a COLLOSSAL BASTARD!! You made me kill people that I love and now you tell me that I was.. disappointing?! How can you fucking-“

She tried unsuccessfully to swallow her screams as the curse flashed through her. He held it on her for what felt like almost a minute. When he dropped it she was panting and sobbing but still angry enough to glare at him.   
The damned snake just looked at her thoughtfully, as if examining some kind of puzzle, and then threw a silencing spell over her, turning away and beginning to disrobe for bed. 

“Once again you are a foolish little witch. If you had shown the appropriate level of regret and apologetic grovelling, I might have allowed you a warming or perhaps even a cushioning spell. As it is.. I am certain you shall have a very long, cold, uncomfortable night.” He waved his hand absently, without turning, and Hermione jumped slightly as her dress was vanished, leaving her bare skin pressed to the cold stone of the floor.  
Voldemort didn’t bother to look around at her again. He removed his robes, baring the marble white contours of his unfortunately very attractive body to her.   
She felt a sudden stab at the unfairness. She was supposed to be in bed with him.. he’d said he was going to reward her.. the innuendo’s he’d made while they were in the dungeon had been quite clear.   
Her eye traced down the length of the snow white back, over his firm arse and down to his lean muscled thighs. She tried to remind herself that he was often unfair. Often biased or cruel.   
What had she really expected?! 

There was a draft somewhere in this room. Impossibly – since it had no doors or windows. A cold wind seemed to blow past her, chilling her on the floor. Voldemort’s robes lay discarded in a silky pile on the floor, far out of her reach. She was preoccupied with the thought of how she might possibly stretch her body out that way after he was asleep and hook them with a toe, when they vanished entirely.

“Disobedient chit” the familiar voice chided. In her distraction she had missed him getting into bed and now he lay under the covers, propped on his elbows and looking at her with an expression that was equal parts frustration and amusement.  
“Goodnight, Hermione. I hope you will spend the freezing hours contemplating how you failed tonight, and determining to do better tomorrow.”

He gestured vaguely and the torches extinguished. 

She heard him shifting under the covers. The warm..soft.. covers..   
The stone floor felt, impossibly, even harder than the metal floor of her cage. Were there cushioning charms on the cage?! Her hip hurt already from this position. And that draft had to be artificial. He’d probably created it just to be an even bigger bastard.   
Wriggling about with the limited range of movement available to the very short manacles fixed to the floor, she found that there really wasn’t a comfortable position attainable. That, again, would be intentional.

Had she really disobeyed him seriously enough to deserve this?!   
She didn’t think so. She’d done what he’d asked. Maybe she hadn’t done it immediately without question but – for merlin’s sake – they were her friends! Except for Luna – they were almost family.

It was really cold.

How long had it been now?! Had she been down here long enough for him to think she’d learned her lesson? Had she been here long enough for him to fall asleep? Would he sleep when she was here? She had never seen him sleep. Every time she slept here she fell asleep first and woke in the cage.

She was still silenced.   
What if he really expected her to stay here all night?!   
Surely he wouldn’t... He..   
She shook her head, cursing her stupidity. Of course he would. It was nothing to him. A bit of discomfort. It wasn’t as if he possessed any kind of mercy and he didn’t actually care about her – he’d made that clear this morning. He’d asked incredulously what she thought he’d been spending all this time with her for if not to use her against Harry.

That thought hurt much more than it should, she found.

Idiotic. To think that Lord Voldemort cared about anyone else in anything other than an instrumental way. Of course he didn’t. He’d killed his own parents.. his servants.. he’d killed lovers without a second thought. He was inhuman. Evil. He was very nearly soulless – literally.  
And she’d known all of that before anything happened. At what point, she wondered, did she manage to push it far enough out of her mind to actually fall in love with a monster?!   
Fascination and clinical interest were one thing but she was honest enough to admit that that wasn’t what she felt anymore.

After what he’d done this evening... how could she feel anything at all?! 

Professor McGonagall was wrong. She was sick. She still wanted him even after what he’d done... even after what he’d made her do. If he freed her and called her into bed now, she’d go.   
The thought was terrible but she really wished he’d call her. It was freezing on the floor and his body was always so warm. His kisses heated her from within as her blood roared.  
She was ruined.   
All the noble, defiant, hope-drenched things that Professor McGonagall had said had only been intended to upset Voldemort. The only true thing her Professor had said was that it was horrible what he’d done to her. What he’d turned her into.  
That was the true part.

She closed her eyes.   
He wasn’t going to call her.   
Trying to still the shivers in her back at the cold she sought sleep, knowing that it was a pointless endeavour. She would by lying here with her thoughts for half the night, just like he said.

She couldn’t prevent her mind from drifting to the memories of her dead friends.. She tried, unsuccessfully, to think of other things.. expecting to be punished for thinking about something he didn’t like.. but perhaps he was asleep because when she shed a few involuntary tears for Remus and Hagrid and professor McGonagall, nothing happened.


	11. Chapter 11

The scritch scritch of a quill on parchment accompanied her drift up to wakefulness. Her body felt like it was made of stone. Stiff and frozen, curled into a tight protective ball to conserve heat, the side that was pressed to the stone floor felt like ice. She identified the scratching sound as emanating from Voldemort, who was seated at his desk working again. 

Obviously he had detected her attention upon him as her manacles clicked open suddenly. 

“Get up” he instructed coolly. 

She wanted to curl in even tighter. He was still annoyed with her. Why?!! She’d thought about it for hours and she really didn’t see why he was so annoyed. She had done what he’d asked in the end. Of course he couldn’t understand what it meant to kill someone you loved. He didn’t love anything. It was just a word. Professor Dumbledore had said that love was Harry’s greatest weapon against Voldemort. It was supposed to be the power that the Dark Lord knows not, Harry had theorised. 

Unfolding her body, her knees cracked and everything felt stiff and unresponsive. She was still frozen. She tried to massage some feeling back into her feet. Her neck was sore from the angle it had been lying at all night. 

When she was finally on her feet she found that he’d laid out a dress on the bed for her.   
It was pale pink silk.   
He knew she hated pink. She thought he hated pink too.   
Definitely not pleased with her this morning then.

“I am going to send you to the bathroom. I wish you to shower. You have five minutes.” 

He didn’t even turn around and she stumbled slightly as the room around her shifted suddenly and she found herself in the bathroom.  
It wasn’t apparition – she hadn’t travelled like this before. She thought he might have banished her. As if she were dirty clothing or a random object. As if she were a thing!   
She felt mild hurt at it, foolishly enough, before her mind kicked in and reminded her that he’d said five minutes and she was wasting time.

She jumped under the shower as soon as the water started. It was immediately hot and strong and wonderful. It sloughed the stiff ice from her joints and soothed her in a way that a warming spell never would have. She turned around in circles under it, sighing in pleasure.  
Taking a shower had never been something she’d really appreciated before. At least not in this kind of bone deep way. She wished she could live under this shower.  
The tiny thought occurred to her, in the back of her mind, that if Voldemort won, she’d likely remain his ..whatever she was right now.. prisoner.. pet.. forever – or at least until he got tired of her and killed her. She’d only be allowed to eat or bathe when he decreed it.. or, probably more accurately – when he remembered it.   
It was probably a terrible statement about how much being around the Dark Lord had changed her but the notion of having the freedom to eat and bathe and wear trousers was really speaking in favour of the world in which Harry won. She should be wanting him to win because it was right. 

She was contemplating washing her hair when the room around her flick-shifted again and she found herself dripping on the stone floor in Lord Voldemort’s bedroom again. She was dried and the puddle around her scourgified away before she could think. A cold disinterested voice instructed her to get dressed.  
The entire dismissive impatient atmosphere of him was beginning to worry her. He wasn’t usually this cold even when he was upset. 

She slipped on the dress. It adjusted itself to better fit her body, snug over her hips, waist and bust. 

“You will sit quietly at my feet until I am finished, after which we will return to the dungeons, where you shall be tested once again.”

She frowned. Ok.. his level of irritation made no sense. She’d done what he asked last night!

“Do not provoke me today, Hermione. I do not wish to coddle you as you fuss childishly. You did not do as you were told and you dithered pathetically. Do not repeat your errors today – respond immediately and in accordance with orders and I shall offer you a great deal more freedom after Potter is destroyed. Now come. Kneel here.” he gestured to the floor at the foot of his chair.

She tried not to frown and moved to his side, her eyes downcast to avoid irritating him further by looking at what he was working on. He shifted his chair slightly to allow her to move closer and kneel beneath the desk. When she did so, he gestured for her to move closer until she was actually pressed up against his legs. The hand that he did not write with reached for her head and guided it down to lay upon the inside of his knee, stroking her hair as if she were a faithful dog. She heard the scritch of the quill moving again. 

She tried not to think but her mind just wasn’t built that way. It turned to the warmth of his knee through the robes and the very unusual position she was presently placed in. Her eyes drifted up of their own accord to the slight shadowed bulge in his robes. He wasn’t hard but she could see the vague delineation of the focus of her attention even so.   
The hand stroking her paused in its travel over her hair and although she couldn’t see him she was sure he had picked up the direction of her thoughts and was surprised.  
She nuzzled at the inside of his knee hopefully. The hand on her head stroked her again very slowly.

“Tempting...” the familiar harmonic voice drifted down to her. 

Daringly, she trailed a finger up his other calf under his robe. The hand on her head delved slightly and fisted her hair, holding her in place. Carefully he pushed the chair back from the desk, throwing the torchlight onto her face in the shadow. He looked as if he were thinking carefully about something   
“Please let me..” she mumbled. “I’m sorry.. that I disappointed you.”   
That was the best she could do. She was sorry that he was disappointed and annoyed with her but she couldn’t help how she had acted yesterday. She really hadn’t wanted to do what he asked. But she did really want to do this.

“As appealing as your request might be, I am inclined to refuse, Hermione. To allow you what you desire would be to reward failure. How are you to learn if your master is inconsistent?”

She lowered her eyes, barely managing to keep the dark scowl from her face. There were times when she used the word Master intentionally, because she knew he liked it.. but there were other times when he used it in a certain way and she felt like some kind of animal.. like a pet. As if he truly saw her as subhuman. 

“Not subhuman.. but perhaps somewhat like a pet.. at times” he responded quietly. “It is inevitable in a relationship so inequal. Perhaps.. in time..” He paused, looking off to the left with pensively lowered brows.  
“No.. not even in time” he amended a short while later. “Even after Potter is destroyed, I will never bring you forth as my consort. Despite your brilliance, your blood is too impure and you are almost as famous as the boy wonder himself. Perhaps I might be able to disguise or permanently alter you.. however such solutions are generally more trouble than they are worth.   
No. Before the world you will remain my prize. No one need know that I take you into my bed from time to time. It will be quite enough to cast off suspicion when I acquire a more permanent pureblooded partner by my side.”

Hermione felt her heart clench.   
“No!” she whimpered before she could stop herself.

“No?” he responded quickly with a mild sneer. “Hermione.. you are labouring under the delusion that I was seeking your opinion. I was not. I was merely thinking aloud. You do not have a choice in these matters. Or indeed any other matters. Your choices are all reducible to one fundamental choice. Do as instructed or face punishment. You cannot eat, bathe, dress, walk, climax – you cannot so much as pass water involuntarily without my permission. You certainly do not have a vote in whether or not I choose to fuck other witches.”

She felt a little fire inside her ignite. For a moment it felt familiar. Like coming home. How long had it been since she dared to resist?!  
“I still have choices.” She whispered defiantly.

She found herself hauled at once to her feet by her hair and thrown hard in the direction of the bed. Her dress had vanished even before she landed pell mell on the covers.   
He was upon her at once, turning her to her stomach, pushing her down into the covers with one hand even as he dragged her hips up with the other, forcing her to her knees. 

Even though she had wanted him and still wanted him, she struggled for all she was worth – alone the principle that she did not have a choice in this propelled her to push upward against his hand on her neck and try to turn her hips away and kick at him. That too was to no avail. He easily subdued her efforts, kneeling painfully upon her calves as he positioned himself and thrust roughly into her.   
She squeaked in shock at being so suddenly filled. 

He immediately settled into a punishing rhythm, slapping into her hard and fast. A faint low groan of pleasure escaped him.

She didn’t want to but God ...he felt so good.. she truly couldn’t help rocking back against him as far as she was able. The way he moved.. the way it felt when he was inside her.. She could no more resist it than she could resist taking her next panted breath. Her indignant defiance forgotten, she moved and clenched, working toward her own climax. It wouldn’t take long.

She was nearly there, moaning softly and turning her cheek against the bedclothes, when with a sudden exultant gasp he slammed deep into her and came.   
She tried to speed her own release and join him.. but without warning he pulled out and stepped away. 

“Try to touch yourself and your punishment will be severe” he said, his breathy voice betraying the exertions of a minute prior. She turned, eyes wide in dismayed disbelief. He stood, pale and powerful, her juices still glistening all over his groin where his half hard cock was now softening to quiescence once more.   
Surely he didn’t mean it! He’d never left her wanting before!

She whined in frustration. “But i’m so close!! Please..”

He snorted softly, amused. “As you see – this is your choice. You will do what you are told or you will be punished. When you are well behaved.. and I am pleased with you... I may on occasion choose to reward you. There can be no expectation that that will be the rule however. You will obey.. and at present I wish you to be unfulfilled.”

Hermione let herself fall onto her side on the bed, curling up into an angry ball of sexual frustration. She squeezed her thighs together still looking for relief from that terrible wonderful almost pleasure.

“Do not imagine that I do not see that. You will not come by your own hand.. or any other body part! Hermione, you have brought this upon yourself with your insolence. Defy me and you will not enjoy what I will do to you next.” He turned away and, waving a hand, scourgified himself. A black robe shimmered into being around his body a moment before he stepped back to the chair and sat down, returning to his work without another glance in her direction.   
He seemed irritatingly pleased with himself though. There was a certain aura of sated smugness about him. 

The slippery drool of his inert seed leaking out of her, she squeezed her thighs together and again had the tingle of pleasure.   
She could come like this. Maybe.   
But he’d said not to.   
She really needed to though.. and she was so close. 

“Ok.. fine.” She growled, annoyed “I have no choices.. please let me come now!”

She thought she saw his thin satisfied smile, but he didn’t turn and didn’t respond.   
Huffing in frustration she continued to press and rock subtly. He seemed to be ignoring her when she finally reached the completion she had been pursuing. It was underwhelming. A small rush of release and then it was over.

He did not turn. His voice sounded distracted. “Very well, Hermione, as you insist upon disobedience - I shall punish you when I am finished here.” 

Her slightly hazed eyes flew back to him and widened in alarm. Defying his order seemed like a bad decision now in retrospect. She felt a hollow foreboding as she lay still on the bed and watched the slender white fingers dancing the quill across the parchment.

“I’m sorry!” she tried, knowing that it was pointless. As expected, Lord Voldemort didn’t even respond. 

 

 

She was almost asleep when she realised something had changed.   
It wasn’t a sound. In fact it was an absence of sound. The scritch scratching of quill on parchment had stopped. 

Looking over with sleepy eyes, she saw the Dark Lord sitting back in his chair gazing with intense scrutiny at a parchment in his hand. She could see that it was the arithmantic chart.   
It seemed even more complex and interwoven now.   
He stared at it as if he were trying to burn a hole in it with the force of his eyes. Then.. without warning, the parchment burst into flame!...

Hermione sat up quickly. “What are you doing?!” she asked, horrified. Had he given up?! Had he abandoned whatever it was he was working upon for so long – was it actually unsolveable?!

“I am finished” he said simply, releasing the parchment into the air where it incinerated itself, the ash wisping away to nothing. “I have balanced the equations. I no longer require it” She could see that the rest of his desk was clean now. It had obviously been the last parchment he burned.

She got up and moved closer, curiously. “You really balanced that many variables? Completely? Were they independent or interwoven?”

She wasn’t sure if the small smile he wore held something like pride but he didn’t seem immediately upset that she’d asked.

“Yes. I really balanced that many variables, Hermione. Completely. The chart was composed of thirty eight independent and forty four interconnected variables.   
I am quite..content.. with the result - ...Finally.   
I have balanced it on two other occasions, however the results were unsatisfactory. I have rectified the main limiting factors and those that remain are manageable.”  
He seemed to remember himself and the bright, pleased, open expression he wore closed like a vault. His crimson eyes might have glinted with something more than usual but he was once again unreachable.

She was just blown away though. He hadn’t balanced eighty two variables once, he’d done it three times! Although obviously the variables had to have changed slightly between instances – the difficulty level was comparable. He was amazing. She felt awed again to be around him. Perhaps... if he continued to teach her after everything was over.. perhaps...it might almost be worth having no freedom.. no rights.. no choices.. To be able to learn from someone so brilliant! She would never have the opportunity in Harry’s world.

As if he’d heard her, his mien darkened sharply and an almost concerned expression flitted across it briefly as he stood.   
“It is time for your punishment, Hermione.”

 

She could barely stand when he apparated her. She was crying. She hadn’t been able to stop. It wasn’t the pain.. although everything hurt so much.. it was more the shock.   
He’d hurt her. A lot. Most of it wasn’t even magical. Nothing he’d ever done before was comparable with this. 

He’d given her no warning, telling her it was time for her punishment, before seconds later lashing out and backhanding her to the floor. He had kicked her in the ribs.. kicked her!! He’d dragged her up by her hair and planted a vicious fist in her belly. And he hadn’t stopped there.   
He had beaten the crap out of her! With his bare hands. Effortlessly. Wearing the most distant, detached expression. He could just as well have been balancing figures at his desk, from the concentration on his face.   
He didn’t speak. Didn’t remind her of why she was being punished. He ignored her pleas and screams utterly. It was like he wasn’t even there.   
It was nothing like when he tortured or punished in the Grand Hall. She was used to his sadistic pleasure. This coldness was truly terrifying. 

Everything kind of blurred together in her mind but sometime after he’d switched to cursing her, just after he’d used a strangulation hex, he’d paused and summoned a house elf for a pitcher of ice water. He’d stood and drank a glass slowly, all the while inspecting her with clinical detachment as she sobbed pitifully and coughed blood. Then, laying aside the glass wordlessly, he’d used some kind of binding spell on her wrists, strung her up by them and taken up a switch. She was covered in thin red stripes from where she’d frantically tried to twist and turn and avoid the lashes. Afterward he’d cursed her some more. She had passed out twice and woken to enervation before he continued. For some reason he had not used the cruciatus..but he had taken a good foray through many of the lesser reversible dark curses

She didn’t even have enough energy to protest the scale of her punishment relative to her apparent offense. She didn’t want to say anything that might make him do something to hurt her again.   
Never in her life had she been in so much pain without the cruciatus being involved. 

And the worst part was that she knew she was stupid to be so incredulous that he had done it to her. She’d seen people brought before him in the grand hall in a far worse state than she was in now. She’d seen him hurt people.. kill them.. effortlessly and without remorse. This was nothing compared to what he’d done to others.  
It was just worse than anything he’d done to her before. She couldn’t understand what she’d done to make him that ang..  
Well.. no. it wasn’t even as if he was angry. He didn’t seem angry at all. He seemed like someone who was performing a necessary task that was neither pleasant nor unpleasant. He seemed exacting but unenthused.

Upon arrival in the dungeon, he dropped her and she crumpled to her knees on the filthy floor of the cell. Torches were already lit. She had her face in her hands trying to stifle the sobbing. She was not wearing a pretty dress now. He’d clothed her in a rough black robe. It felt like it was made of sack cloth and it was at least two sizes too large. 

“Hermione?!!” 

She recognised the horrified panicked voice without even uncovering her face and her heart quietly sank to the bottom of a black ocean of despair.

“Mum..” she whispered.

“I am certain that I do not need to explain to you why we are here, Hermione” The voice of her tormentor floated down to her. “Stand.”

She heaved a sigh and dropped her hands from her bruised and swelling face. She heard nothing but in her peripheral vision detected the shocked flinch and angry struggling from the two figures chained to the wall. When she thought she had collected enough strength she raised her bloodshot eyes to look at them. Her parents looked furious. So protective that their own terror was pushed aside.   
Her eyes skidded across to Lord Voldemort, who was looking at them both with mild disgust.

“I’m not going to do it.” She said with weary finality, expecting that now he was probably going to do something even worse than what he’d just done to her.  
“Do what you want to me. I’m not going to kill them. 

The red eyes upon her narrowed and he raised his wand, pointing it in the direction of her father. “Hermione.. I cannot explain your recent relapse into idiotic Gryffindoresque defiance – however I can assure you that you will learn to obey. You will kill them.   
At the very least, I have no doubt that you will Avada your dear mother rather than submit her to Juellers inversion curse. Or perhaps Prions hunger??   
Do not oblige me to waste an unreasonable amount of time torturing and killing two muggles and then punishing you even more harshly than I have thusfar.” 

There was a clatter as her wand bounced on the stones at her feet where he tossed it. She snatched it up and gripped it white-knuckled. She was itching to raise it upon him. Her entire body vibrated with the need to attack him. 

“Try, and their suffering will exceed that of all of the others combined. And you will watch them scream and beg and curse you for denying them an easy death.” The serpentine face was hard. She knew that he was not making an empty threat. If she didn’t do it, he would probably use some horrible curse she didn’t know and in all likelihood her parents might end up wishing she’d consented.

She turned to them, despairing.   
Her mother was crying and leaning toward her father, who was mouthing silently, trying to comfort her. They were chained too far apart to reach one another. Her father glanced over at her and there was something so awful in the way he looked at her – as if she were a monster; a faithful family pet that had one day suddenly turned rabid and bitten the baby. 

“At least release them” she barely breathed, resignation dawning on her face.

Lord Voldemort smiled in triumph and flicked his wand slightly in the direction of her parents. There was a clatter as their chains fell away and then they flew into one another’s arms. Her father held her mother tightly while she cried and neither of them looked over at her. 

“I’m..so sorry..” she choked out, her eyes fixed on the stones at her feet. “I never wanted this. ..if there were any other way..”

They simply held one another more tightly.

She raised her wand.

The quickest, least painful curse was the killing curse. But she didn’t know if she could cast it right now. Not on them. She didn’t want them to die. Perhaps Xerces eraser again?

“I wish you to use the Avada” came the soft unnaturally-resonant voice. 

 

She was in the cage.

Her parents were dead and she was in the cage.

In the grand hall

Alone. 

In the dark.

Everything hurt. There was no way to sit or lie that did not evoke pain. It wasn’t as bad as after Draco had cruciated her though. It was not beyond endurance. 

She had done what he wanted. The first time she had cast, the spell had failed. Her parents had flinched together, expecting something terrible to happen and had looked up at one another, surprised when the moment passed.  
Lord Voldemort had been angry. She could see it on his face. He had been very angry that she had failed. She was afraid that he would do something terrible to them if she didn’t manage to cast the killing curse.  
She had cast again. Her father didn’t even have time to brace himself again before the bright green light had hissed across the room and felled him. 

The uncomprehending terrified look on her mother’s face was still in the front of Hermione’s mind.

She had cast again and her mother had looked at her one final time as if she didn’t recognise her, before the spell scattered her, marionette with the strings cut, over the body of her husband.

Voldemort had summoned her wand from her hand immediately and, without a word, banished her to the cage.

And now all she could think about was what she had done.   
All she could think about was how she hadn’t even tried to fight. Her parents would have wanted her to fight. She should have done something. 

She didn’t know how long she had been lying here, her wounds throbbing ...and aching ...and stinging, thinking about her parents.. and Remus and Hagrid and Professor McGonagall and all the others..   
and Harry.   
All of their faces kept swimming through her mind looking at her with terrible disappointment. She was worse than a failure. She was like Peter Pettigrew. She was a traitor to her friends and family.

A crack startled her from her morose rumination. She sat up with some difficulty.

Voldemort.   
Why was he back?!   
He looked alert.. alarmed even.. he stalked over to the cage and his every move was strange and jerky. Not graceful like he usually was at all. His eyes were wild. 

“Potter is within the castle. It will not be long before he finds his way to this room. I did not think they would attack today.. my sources..” He tapered off uncertainly but recovered.  
..No matter.” Waving open the door of the cage, he moved closer. Hermione flinched back. What was he going to do now?! 

Her avoidance was pointless. He somehow summoned her across the intervening space and she slid forward to the edge of the cage unwillingly.   
The horrible monster, who was her entire world, lowered himself to one knee. He was almost eye to eye with her sitting on the edge of the cage, he was so tall. 

She looked down at the oddity that was Lord Voldemort kneeling before her. She had thought that the man only had knees to rest upon while he fucked her. The sight of him in a posture of supplication was bizarre.

“Hermione.. do you recall what I told you I wished of you?”   
Crimson eyes mustered her seriously.

She forbore to respond. 

“I require you to use what I have taught you to attack while he is distracted. He will not expect it. You are the one person who he will ignore during the duel.   
You must destroy him. Or incapacitate him if you will not kill him.   
Hermione.. you know that there is no place for you in Harry Potter’s world. You will be alone and suspected.. perpetually wondering what I might have shown you.. what you might have learned, had you chosen differently.”

He withdrew her wand from the inside pocket of his robe and offered it to her.   
She looked at it sceptically for a moment before taking it. Voldemort inspected her tensely.

“you will do it?”

She didn’t respond again. She simply looked back at him with dull eyes.

“Hermione.. “ He seemed to hesitate between lingering and hurrying her back into the cage. Distantly she could hear shouts and spells now from somewhere beyond the grand hall.

Without warning, the monster she had allowed to corrupt her surged forward and captured her lips roughly.   
Not expecting it in the slightest she was taken off guard and he drew her into a deep, devouring kiss. As always when he kissed her, she felt her mind unreel slightly.. felt her body react automatically.   
He kissed her with almost desperate abandon before he pulled away suddenly, leaving her gasping, and examined her with a judicious eye. 

“It is your choice, Hermione. Live a lonely life watching Ginevra Weasley bear Harry Potter’s children... or..show me your loyalty and I shall keep you at my side while I rule...forever.”

He rose to his feet. It was not as smooth as usual. There was something..off.. about his movements. She couldn’t place it. Perhaps it was just the adrenalin. He seemed nervous. 

He had no sooner closed the cage than the massive doors at the far end of the grand hall exploded inward in a storm of stone and wood shards. 

A familiar silhouette stood in the dust. 

It was a very dramatic entrance. 

The sound of battle was loud now. Behind Harry, order members were fighting with death eaters. There were flashes of spells and screaming voices. 

The figure in the door strode forward unhesitatingly, through the dust, until he was clearly visible. 

He looked older.. harder.. stronger. What had he been doing the last months?!.. He looked like he had grown up all at once. If he was attractive before, he was gorgeous now. It hurt to look at him!   
The flicker of his green eyes was visible clear across the room by the torchlight. 

He noticed her.

It was clear from the pained shock on his face that he had had no inkling that she was still alive. He stared at her in dismay, pain written all over his face. She realised she had crawled to the front wall of the cage. She knelt up, clinging to the filigree with shaking fingers. 

“Mione..” she saw his mouth form the word.. but no sound came out. Then his eyes darkened stormily and he threw a curse in her direction. She thought he had cursed her but the movement as the spell raced past the side of the cage and Voldemort darted out of its path, made it clear that he hadn’t.   
“YOU BASTARD! YOU FUCKING SNAKE FACED BASTARD!.. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HER?! MIONE!!”  
He sounded so..emotional..  
She realised that she wasn’t used to that anymore. She could pick out the colours of emotion in his voice. Pain. Anger. guilt. Fear.  
Lord Voldemort, by contrast, was the picture of composure. He glided with almost as much grace as usual, forward, down the low stairs to the floor of the great hall.

“I have done many things to her Harry. However if you refer to her current rather soiled and battered appearance – she is undergoing punishment for insolence.”

Harry almost vibrated with fury and let fly half a dozen curses, the first four of which Voldemort deflected harmlessly. The final two missed as he floated out of their path effortlessly.

“I had begun to wonder if you would ever arrive to face your fate. The mudblood gave up on pining your absence several months ago.”   
The Dark Lord flicked off a couple of curses almost tentatively. Hermione clenched the silvery filigree tighter, holding her breath. Harry however, reacted quickly, avoiding the first curse and shielding against the second before returning another salvo of his own. 

As they were both casting silently it was difficult to detect what spells were being used, but she was almost sure that the last one Harry had used had been a dark spell. Casis canis. The colour was right and the wandwork quite distinctive. Except..Harry would never use dark spells!

None of Harry’s spells struck their intended target but when the Dark Lord responded, almost exploratorily, Harry didn’t move fast enough and a cutting hex sliced across his shoulder.   
Hermione winced. Harry was stronger than he had been.. yes.. and he was fighting better than before too... but she knew Voldemort wasn’t even really trying to attack yet. He was playing. And he was countering everything Harry sent effortlessly.   
Harry was going to lose. 

As if to emphasise the imbalance between the two wizards, Harry again launched into an attack, firing off spell after spell, none of which made the slightest impression upon Voldemort. 

The dark wizard laughed softly.   
“Is that all?! You have had months to prepare yourself and this is the best that you can do?!” He half turned and glanced at Hermione, a small dark smile upon his lips.  
Turning back to Harry he stalked even closer. There were barely six metres between them now  
“I confess, Harry.. I expected a lot more from the..saviour of the light.. Dumbledore’s vaunted weapon. I was actually concerned that you might present a serious challenge. I see though, that removing the old man and the mudblood was quite sufficient to render you ineffectual.” Smiling nastily, he circled around to the side, absently dismissing the curses that the infuriated Harry threw.   
“I have always known you were a foolish boy, Potter... To have thrown away your greatest asset in order to protect Ginevra... poor, weak, greedy, conceited little Ginevra Weasley... who wishes only to be wealthy and famous.. who has never been of the slightest use to you...”

Harry railed at him. “Not everyone is a Slytherin, Voldemort – I’d never fall in love with someone based on what they could do for me. And you’re wrong about Ginny. Ginny is the sweetest girl i’ve ever known.”

Hermione privately had her reservations about whether Voldemort was wrong or not. Ginny was always quite calculating and she’d been most in love with Harry when he was in the papers.   
The Dark Lord laughed again.  
“Actually Potter.. the sweetest girl you have ever known was that mudblood in the cage. Although.. she is far less sweet than she was when she first arrived in my domain. I have taken it upon myself to assist her to broaden her mind. Her naive innocence has faded most agreeably since I made her my whore..”

In the moment that Harry’s face flew, stunned, to her, blinking in shock and hurt, Voldemort’s arm lashed out, green fire spitting from the tip of his sharp cruel yew wand. Harry barely even saw it coming before it struck him in the chest. He looked, in the end, painfully confused, as the light faded from his eyes and he collapsed to the floor.

“NO!!!!” she heard herself screaming. 

He couldn’t be. He wasn’t dead!! Voldemort hadn’t killed him!! 

That wasn’t it! It was a mistake! 

Harry had survived the killing curse before! 

Voldemort approached Harry’s body slowly, replacing his wand in his pocket. His back was to Hermione.

She didn’t even know what she was doing when her hand reached for the wand Voldemort had given her and inserted the tip between the mesh of the cage. She hesitated, as the man.. the monster.. who she thought she might actually love crouched down inspecting the corpse of her best friend.

“That was easier than I expected” he informed her thoughtfully. “And now there exists no one capable of threatening my rule. Britain will be mine.. and in time Europe.. From there..who knows?!”

Hermione’s mother’s confused face flashed before her eyes... followed by Harry’s lost expression the moment before he was killed. How many more would Voldemort kill?! Britain was not enough.. he would spread his sickness to Europe..and then who knows?!

She didn’t even need to say the words.. the green light hissed softly from the tip of her wand through the sheer vehemence of her will. It wasn’t even intentional..

Lord Voldemort never even looked around.   
The green flash struck him in the back..just below his right shoulder. He stiffened for only a moment before he fell gently, to the side, his head made a terrible dull thud as it struck the ground.

And then everything was still again.

 

Hermione stared.  
Her mind was in shutdown.   
They were both dead. Both of the people she loved.. the one she couldn’t have and the one she shouldn’t choose – they were both dead. 

Beyond the door, the sounds of battle were quieter.. more isolated. Only a few witches and wizards remained fighting. For whatever reason, no one moved any closer to the grand hall. No one else entered. 

She stared at the two bodies on the floor and felt..nothing..

Eventually, after a time, even the few sounds of battle outside died down and ended. Everything became very quiet.

She was staring at the black silk of Voldemort’s robe, which had ridden up as he fell to expose his calves.   
It was undignified. He wouldn’t want that. She used the wand to lower it and cover him.  
It felt as if there was a mountainous tidal wave of pain and despair pressing in at a flimsy window that was keeping her in this placid state of empty calm. If she let it in, it would drown her.  
Her eyes slid down of their own accord to the wand in her hand.

They were both dead.  
her fault.  
why had she done it?! She’d reacted without thinking. In the silence, she knew now without a doubt that she should have chosen him. He would have come and let her out of the cage now. He would have been so pleased. He’d won. It was over.  
Now everything was over. There was nothing left. She’d ruined everything.   
The tears wouldn’t come. Her eyes felt gritty. It was as if there was nothing left inside her.  
She watched as her hand, somehow knowing better than her mind, turned the wand, placing the tip at her chest.   
Wavering, she wondered whether she needed to say the words or whether it would be enough to let the bottomless despair in. 

The faint sound was ignored at first. Everything was still. And then things slipped back into focus and the faint sound became quiet footsteps.   
They came from behind her cage.. the back of the room.   
Whoever it was had been here the entire time. 

She looked up; her eyes meeting silvery grey ones. Draco Malfoy sneered at her from half a metre away on the other side of the cage, and in the dulled-mind state she was in as she was preoccupied with surprise and confusion, he summoned her wand out of her hand and through the filigree.  
She heard a very understated little snap sound before sharp blinding pain winded her..   
By the time she could open her eyes and look up, he was standing over Harry.  
He had something in his hand. It looked like something long, wrapped.. swaddled in fact in fabric. It had a rather distinctive shape.

“enervate” the snide voice said quietly.

She blinked, confused..

Harry moved.   
His head twitched and turned to the side. She saw his fingers stretching and then clenching.   
And then he opened his eyes.

“Get up, Harry. You have to finish it. The curse bounced off you and hit him. The Dark Lord went down but I don’t know if he’s really dead. Take the sword! Then we’ll get Granger out of that cage and get out of this mausoleum.”

Harry looked up and his face twisted with disorientation for a moment.   
“Draco.. Feel a bit..funny... What’s...” He trailed off, confused.

Malfoy dropped to his knees and peered into Harry’s eyes. Hermione watched numbly. Her mind, somewhere distant that was untroubled by the thunderstorm of shock and despair, was observing and adding up the signs that indicated that Draco Malfoy had turned on the Dark Lord and joined the order. Traitortraitortraitor! He’d told Voldemort he couldn’t get the sword.. Harry seemed to treat him as someone familiar and trustworthy. 

“We can get you checked out later, Harry. For now – you have to make sure that he’s dead. Cut off his head. Hurry. There could be other death eaters left around here somewhere.”

Harry nodded slowly and reached out for the object that Malfoy was holding. It was passed to him wordlessly and he unwrapped it, revealing a shining silver sword inset with rubies. Shakily, Harry climbed to his feet, using the sword as a crutch for a second. He stumbled forward and gave Voldemort’s body a small kick, rolling it over onto it’s back. 

Hermione flinched and her hand grasped air, wanting her wand back in order to curse him and protect her master. Voldemort was dead. No one should be kicking him or disfiguring him – especially not Harry. He’d hate that! What was happening was wrong. He should show respect.. 

Lord Voldemort was so still and somehow..not himself anymore. His eyes, that were once vibrant blood-red, were white. He looked exactly like a statue now.. no colour at all.   
Hermione’s vision blurred as the first hot bitter tears raced down her bruised cheeks, but she couldn’t look away. She saw the blur that was Harry raising the sword. It fell and there was a sharp clang as it struck the stone floor. It sounded very final. A white blur on the ground fell away and rolled slightly. She knew it was his head.   
How often had she kissed him?! How many times had she spoken with him for hours.. fascinated by the quick, intricate way his mind operated..   
Her fault.  
Why had she done it?! What insanity possessed her to do it?! She wanted him back!

If she had cursed Harry... if she’d used one of the dark curses Voldemort had allowed her to learn.. if she’d just.. chosen... and not been so damn stupid about.. showering.. and dresses.. and her friends who were never really her friends anyway. If she’d helped him.. like he’d asked her to..

He had always been right.   
there was no place for her in Harry’s world. 

The sound of Harry and Draco arguing quietly as they tried to break the wards on the cage door went ignored. Harry offered words of comfort to her. He was very anxious and impatient now. She didn’t care. Nothing mattered really now. In a way, she felt like they should leave her in the cage and go. She deserved that and worse. 

When the cage opened and Harry called her urgently, her rational mind stepped back in for a moment. This was the world she was now in, it informed her, and she needed Harry’s help – just as Voldemort had told her – in order to avoid interrogation by aurors, or more likely unspeakables... Irrespective what she felt she might deserve, did she really want to go to Azkaban?!

She crawled over to Harry with as much enthusiasm as she could pull together and found herself swept up into his arms.  
He clung to her tightly until she squeaked in pain. His arms loosened at once and he pulled back apologetically. She was shocked to see his vibrant Avada green eyes fill with tears.   
“Mione.. I’m s-sorry.. I thought..” he snivelled. “I never knew..” His face broke into desperate misery. “They told me you were dead! They told me they had your body, Mione.. I thought.. I thought it was too late! I’d never have left you here if I’d known..”

She swallowed and nodded, hearing herself offering reassurances. She didn’t blame him. She understood. It was ok. She was fine now. It would all be ok.   
empty words. It wouldn’t be ok; it would never be ok again.  
Malfoy stood a few steps away, looking somewhere between embarrassed and disgusted. Impatient, he seemed about to intervene several times but apparently thought better of it.

Harry eventually calmed enough to wipe his eyes on his sleeves and look down at her with something approximating acceptance. He smiled sadly.  
“I love you, Mione” he said softly. “I’ll never let anyone take you away from me again.”  
He pulled her closer again in a careful embrace. She found her face pressed against his shoulder. Her gaze, over the top of Harry’s shoulder, met Draco’s silvery eyes.   
There was something disquieting in the traitorous blonde’s expression. Something like..calculation.   
She remembered suddenly what Lord Voldemort had said to distract Harry and realised that Draco had been in the room somewhere hiding. Even if Harry no longer remembered what had happened in the minutes before he was cursed, Draco did.   
Her eyes widened and Draco’s expression became shuttered. He looked away

She frowned when Harry pressed a soft kiss just behind her ear. Turning her head she looked up at him curiously   
He seemed..calm. ...Really content actually.   
It was rather an intimate thing to do. Especially for Harry. He’d never really been comfortable with affection after a childhood without it. Still.. he was a bit confused right now.. he’d just defeated Voldemort – or so he thought – and he’d just learned that she was still alive when he’d thought she was dead. It was a strange moment maybe..

“Draco – bring the body. We’re leaving. I’ll meet you back at headquarters. I need to get Mione to St Mungo’s”

Hermione furrowed her brows again, feeling another odd sort of bemusement at how much Harry had changed. He’d never really taken naturally to leadership. It was always pressed upon him. It appeared that that had changed.

“Are you sure you’re safe to apparate?” Draco asked dubiously. “It’d be safer if I side-along you one by one...”

Harry waved him off. “I’m fine now. I was just a bit.. shaken.. when I woke up. No. Take care of the body. I’ll make sure Hermione is safe.” 

Draco looked at Harry carefully and nodded after a while. “Alright. I’ll see you back at the lodge then.”

Without warning, Harry leaned down and swept her legs up, taking her into his arms and holding her close. She eeped in surprise and clung, trying to regain her balance.   
“Sorry” he mumbled and gave her a sheepish grin. “I don’t do this as much as the daily prophet seems to think. Are you ok?”   
She nodded, unsure how to react.   
Part of her that she’d almost forgotten completely was sitting up alert and avid. She’d always dreamed Harry would rescue her and literally sweep her off her feet.. For months she’d dreamed he’d kiss her and carry her away.. and Ginny wasn’t even here to spoil it. Her senses were reporting that he smelled even better than she remembered and telling her to rest her head on his shoulder in the crook of his neck. 

But her eyes drifted of their own accord to rest on the head that was lying on the floor, empty eyed, slack jawed. The familiar serpentine face was turned toward her, colourless eyes accusing. 

She realised that she didn’t want to be in Harry’s arms anymore. Voldemort had been right about everything. She’d chosen wrongly and she’d always regret it. 

With the realisation, it felt like the window keeping her in the safe numb place shattered and the black emotions swarmed down and engulfed her. Guilt, despair, regret, anger, Loss!  
oh Loss!!! The loss was excruciating!   
She would never again get to hear his strange voice..see those unnatural eyes.   
Never again would he touch her. Never would he smile in that dark knowing way that she hated, even as it sent shivers of pleasure up her spine. Never again would he hold her.. stroke her hair from her eyes.. kiss her..   
She would never smell his faint pleasant scent as she fell asleep against him, the soft movement of his breathing lulling her. She was the only one who was ever allowed to see him that unguarded. 

There was no physical torture that was not worth that. She would gladly accept punishment every night if it would bring him back!

Bursting into sudden hysterical tears, she struggled to get down, incoherently trying to explain to Harry why he needed to put her down now.   
She wanted to stay here. She didn’t want to go with them. She wanted to stay here with him.   
She wanted to go where he’d gone.  
If Harry would just put her down, she needed to go and put Voldemort’s head back with his body.. she needed to mourn him properly. No one was going to mourn him. It was intolerable that someone as brilliant and powerful and amazing should die and be completely un-mourned. She had to stay. She needed to stay with him here.

Harry didn’t seem to understand anything she was sobbing. He and Draco exchanged worried glances as he gripped her more tightly.

“Mione.. it’s ok.. It’s over now”

She only cried harder at that.

“Harry.. just.. take her to St Mungo’s. She needs.. a calming draught or something. she’s going to hurt herself”

Hermione struggled harder.   
Harry pulled her close, painfully, trying to restrain her arms. “Hermione.. You have to stay still, ok?! I need you to stay-“

Draco’s stunner was like peace. All of the pain..dropped away and there was..nothing.

 

A hand in her hand.

Someone was speaking to her softly.

It was very quiet. And comfortable. She was in bed. The Dark Lord was holding her hand. He brushed aside her hair in that familiar way she’d come to cherish. 

“I know you are awake, Hermione..” he whispered 

She smiled, inexpressibly relieved. He wasn’t dead. Harry wasn’t here yet. None of it happened.. maybe her parents were still alive too.. She didn’t feel sore at all..

“I had the worst dream..” she murmured sleepily

The unmistakeable sound of a door opening dragged a frown onto her forehead. There were no doors here. There were no doors at all in this room.

She opened her eyes to blinding white. A plain ceiling. Sunlight streamed in through massive windows. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen sunlight. It was piercing.   
But..  
But he had been here! 

She turned her head to find bright green eyes looking back at her calmly from under a heavy mop of black hair.   
Harry.  
Not Voldemort.   
Harry’s hand. Harry’s whisper. Harry brushing aside her hair.   
She remembered suddenly that he had done that sometimes too. Ages ago. When they were both younger and waking up at the burrow together. Back when seeing one of her friends in their pajamas didn’t constitute a sexually charged situation.   
Oh god... it hurt! It hurt so much! It felt like something inside her were cracking into pieces.. it felt like acid.. like wrenching..tearing. It was worse than any physical pain she’d experienced.

He was really gone..

It had really happened. She’d killed him. 

She didn’t mean it! She wanted to take it back! So what if he killed half the world?! She didn’t care in the slightest if he tortured everyone she’d ever known. She wanted to be with him.   
If killing Harry would bring back Voldemort, she’d be on him right now, strangling him with her bare hands!

“Miss Granger.. How are you feeling this morning?” a no-nonsense voice demanded in a businesslike manner from somewhere off in the direction that the sound of the opening door had come from. 

Her miserable thoughts shattered, she turned her head to find a matronly woman in a green mediwitch’s uniform. Her stern british bulldog face and tiny dark eyes reminded Hermione of the kind of woman her mother referred to as a battleaxe.

“I’m.. fine?” she answered uncertainly. 

“Well.. you were not fine when Mr Potter brought you to us..”  
Hermione frowned at the way the woman’s brisk reproving tone almost seemed to blame her for daring to be injured. The battleaxe continued without pause “-Although the external damage was quite..disturbing..it was not difficult to heal. However you had a number of nasty internal injuries, both mundane and magical. Dark magic can be quite tricky when it is layered in that manner. You have been in a magically regulated sleep for several days now while your body repaired itself. I am going to check your levels now and then perhaps we might see how your body responds to a reduction in the strength of the spells keeping your liver and kidneys operating.

Hermione lay still while the diagnostic spells flitted over her body and threw up flares of different coloured light in different areas. Most were a pale green or pale blue but some orange and even purple was hovering around her abdomen.

“It is slightly improved” the mediwitch pronounced with a hard face. “I am still not happy with your kidney function. Perhaps we might wait until tomorrow to start you on fluids. I’ll see what healer Auldwin’s opinion is.”  
She turned then to Harry and the stern bulldog expression split into a soft beaming smile. “Visting hours are from twelve to three and she may have no more than three visitors at a time. I do not want her overexcited at this point.” The smile widened further. “Of course – you may stay as long as you wish, mr Potter. St Mungo’s ... and the entire wizarding world.. is forever in your debt.”

“Thank you Mediwitch Medina” Harry returned politely. “I appreciate everything you are doing for Hermione. She looks a hundred times better than yesterday and the day before – you don’t know how much it means to me that you and healer Auldwin have been taking special care of her – I don’t know what I’d have done if I lost her again! Thank you for everything!” 

Astoundingly the old battleaxe managed to flush slightly. Hermione raised her eyebrows disbelievingly. Oh my god. That was just unsettling! 

The woman must have caught Hermione’s disapproval because she pulled herself together again a moment later and stated in her brisk tone “There are a large number of people waiting in the corridor. Perhaps you could convince them to wait elsewhere and organise themselves into groups to visit Miss Granger. You understand that the corridors must remain free in case of emergencies.”

Harry nodded agreeably. “I’ll see that they move shortly Mediwitch Medina. I’m sorry for the trouble – they’re all just so glad that Hermione is alive and well.”

The mediwitch departed soon afterward, to Hermione’s relief.

She really wanted to be alone.. but it didn’t look like that was going to happen anytime soon. It was probably selfish of her to want it, when as Harry had pointed out, there were so many people outside worried about her. Uneasily she turned her eyes toward Harry. In the absence of the mediwitch he looked less controlled.. Less..saviour-of-the-light and more Harry. The emotion was clear in his eyes.

“Mione.. I’m so glad you’re ok!” he hushed out quickly. “I’m sorry. I should have known you were alive.. I should have felt it or something... I would have saved you if I’d known.. I’d have come sooner.. I’d have done something...” He took her hand again and brought it to his cheek.   
“I never realised..” he broke off and swallowed.

She forced herself not to snatch her hand back uncomfortably although she wanted to. She didn’t want anyone touching her. Least of all Harry.   
“Didn’t realise?” she prompted, hoping it would lead to her being able to reclaim her hand.

“I didn’t realise you were such a target for him” Harry finished, but it sounded a bit stilted. She wondered whether it had been what he had originally intended to say. 

“It’s ok, Harry. I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.”

Harry licked his bottom lip nervously and then bit it, avoiding her eyes. “Um... “

Worry crept up inside her. “What is it? What’s happened?”

He shook his head. “nothing. Nothing’s happened. It’s just.. Well.. you saw how they’re all treating me now.”   
She rolled her eyes and nodded, smiling faintly and resisting the urge to tug her hand back from where he was now holding it between both of his, stroking the back of it with one hand slowly.  
“Well... I asked..what your injuries were and..” he paused meaningfully. “And.. they told me..” Another meaningful glance.

She had no idea what she was supposed to derive from that. It sounded serious. Something bad. She thought back as hard as she could to what exactly she’d been cursed with. She really couldn’t remember it all. Was there any other damage? Her mind flicked over the time in the dungeon with her parents. Waking in the cage.. No.. No.. Nothing that should cause such an ominous feeling.  
She turned a blank face toward Harry.

“Who was it?” he asked obliquely. 

When her blank face remained, he swallowed and said softly “I need to know who raped you, Mione.. I need to make sure they’re dead or in Auror-custody.”

Pure surprise must have shown on her face because Harry looked down and blushed, as if ashamed.   
“You didn’t think that I’d let anyone... do that...to you..and get away with it, did you?! You have to tell me. I’m sorry – if you don’t want to remember.. but I need to know..”

Raped her?   
There was no way that she was going to say that Voldemort raped her.   
Maybe.. the last time was perhaps.. a bit rough.. after all he was making a point... but it certainly wasn’t rape.   
Ok Maybe she’d fought him.. and he’d ...insisted.. but she’d been begging him for it just minutes before and after he stopped she begged him again. It clearly wasn’t rape.  
He didn’t!! Not ever! She wasn’t saying that about him now... he was dead. 

At that, the damnable tears sprang forth again and she hid her face.

Harry panicked. He didn’t seem to know what to do. He leapt up and tried to hug her, apologising. When she jerked away and wailed at him not to touch her, he sprang back as if burned and hovered helplessly, fidgeting and wringing his hands.   
“I’m really sorry, Mione.. I didn’t mean to!! I don’t want to upset you.. I shouldn’t have asked! I should have thought about how you’d feel! Please be alright!!”

She took a huge breath and held it, hiccoughing slightly and scrubbed her hands over her face to wipe the tears away a bit till she could see. When she turned to him it was with determination.

“I don’t want to talk about anything that happened there, Harry. And you can tell any aurors or whoever else wants to know – I’m not going to talk about it.   
Its over. I don’t want to discuss it.   
I don’t need a therapist or a mind healer. I couldn’t care less who is arrested and who isn’t. I don’t want anything to do with it.   
I can’t .. I can’t talk about it..ok?! And if they put me under veritaserum and force me to...I don’t know..what...” she devolved back into sobs, that she this time willingly embraced to emphasise her refusal. 

“But..”   
Harry sounded torn.   
“Hermione.. there are aurors outside now. They’ll want to know what happened. You’ve been Voldemort’s captive for months.. They need to-”

“Idontcare!!” she blared out soggily. “I don’t care. Do you want to know what happened? I sat in a cage and watched people get tortured and killed just about every day. I don’t even remember their faces, nevermind their names. No one needs to know that! It won’t help anyone.   
And.. and the other stuff...  
I don’t want anyone to know that.   
I don’t want complete strangers...or even the people who know me looking at me and knowing what happened. I don’t want anyone at all to know. He’s dead. Most of them are dead and the ones that aren’t will end up in Azkaban.   
Just.. just make it go away, Harry” she pleaded. “Please.. it’s ok that you didn’t save me.. I know..you would have.. if you’d known... but don’t make me relive it all again now for them.”

She knew it was low to use his guilt but...it was what he had said she should do. 

Harry seemed to be thinking. He bit his lip, worried and internally preoccupied. After a long minute his unnaturally bright eyes returned to meet her own and he mustered her with a serious expression.  
“I...can keep them from questioning you Hermione. At least.. I’m pretty sure I can. But... I’ll need to know everything that happened there eventually.”   
He held up a hand to forestall her protests.  
“Not right away, ok.. I didn’t think when I asked before. I didn’t consider... But I’ll need to know in time, Hermione. If I agree to do this.. you have to promise you’ll tell me everything as soon as you can

Hermione considered the promise. It was an extremely open and subjective thing. Voldemort would never have agreed to that if he wanted information from someone.

“Ok. I promise I’ll tell you as soon as I feel I can.” She agreed.

Harry hesitated, frowning slightly, but then shook his head and the expression drifted back to a soft caring smile.

“Ok, Mione” He reached for her hand again and she allowed it, only tensing slightly when he brought it to his face and pressed her palm to his cheek again.   
“Who do you want to see first? They’re all out there, impatient to talk to you. Healer Auldwin told me when you’d be waking up and.. well.. I told Ginny and Ron.. and you know how he is.”  
He rolled his eyes in mild irritation.

Hermione didn’t want to see anyone. Least of all Ron and Ginny. 

Oh god.

Mrs Weasley.   
How was she supposed to look them in the eye when she’d killed their mother only days ago?! Oh bloody hell.

“How.. how are..they?!” She asked carefully.

Harry looked at her, startled, and then understanding.

“You...saw?”

She nodded slowly

“Who was it?!” he demanded urgently. “Who killed her?! We found.. She was.. He.. returned her.. to the burrow. She was cursed – one of the Aurors lost a hand when he tried to touch her.   
Who did it?!”

Hermione looked down, considering what the best answer might be.

“It was someone new. Young. It was a test of sorts. I didn’t see their face.” She hoped that was enough. It was better not to lie. She wasn’t very good at outright lies.

Harry seemed to accept it. He looked downcast. Then, as if something else had occurred to him, his eyes slid back up to her anxiously.  
“Were there.. any others? That you knew..?” he asked hollowly.

She darted a glance up at him and then looked away again. A nod was enough for him to seize her damn hand again and hold it tightly. 

“I’m sorry, Mione..” he whispered. “I have to ask you. There are a lot of people missing right now.. and.. and..” he drew a deep breath.  
“Please.. tell me that Remus wasn’t..”

He didn’t need to finish. The look on her face apparently said it all. Harry sat down heavily in the chair. His hand was crushing her own but she doubted he realise it.   
“Fuck..” he said with feeling. “Fucking bastard..” he looked murderous, green eyes glinting like broken glass “And you saw him.. you’re .. you’re sure?!..” A high pitched tone of slight hysteria had crept into his voice.   
She nodded again.   
Harry let go of her hand finally and bent over his knees, both hands over his face. She could see his back moving and assumed he was crying. If he was, he did it silently.

“There’s more..” she murmured unhappily, feeling like a confessor.

“More?!” Harry said, choked. His voice was thick. After a moment he took a deep breath and wiped his eyes on his palms. The red puffiness around his eyes when he looked up at her seemed to only enhance the green, making him look otherworldly.

“Yes” she confirmed quietly.

By the time she’d told Harry all about Hagrid, Luna and Professor McGonagall, he was beyond overwrought. He just kept touching her and crying and saying how sorry he was that she had to go through it all. She was having difficulty crying as much as he seemed to expect and it was a great relief when he said not long afterward, with more apologies, that he needed to get some air and calm down and that he’d come back and see her later after he’d broken the news to the rest of the order. 

In the wake of his departure, the silence was bliss. The cool..peace.. the lack of dramatic urgent emotion. She curled down deeper into the single bed and pulled the blankets up.   
It was a luxury to be in a bed.   
She was only ever in a bed when Voldemort felt like rewarding her.  
Which he probably wouldn’t do now, if anyone could ask him. With the way he’d punished her so harshly over the last days... she couldn’t even begin to imagine what kind of punishment killing him with the Avada deserved. There probably wasn’t anything painful enough. He’d have to invent a new curse to increase the amount of suffering endurable by a human body.   
No doubt he could do that too. If he took it into his head to create something more painful than the cruciatus, he would. Maybe he had.. and she’d just never deserved it before.

When the door opened quietly, she was lying, half dozing, dreaming of ways in which Voldemort might not really be dead.. fantasies in which she brought him back somehow...perhaps there was a hidden horcrux that Harry hadn’t found.. perhaps there was some spell for parting the veil – maybe she invented one..just for him. Maybe it was possible to sacrifice part of her life force to buy him back from death. Was it possible to become a necromancer or did one have to be born that way?!

“Granger”

She flinched at the unexpected presence so close to her and opened her eyes quickly, blinking to rid them of sleep. “Draco?” 

The blond stood uncomfortably at the side of her bed, looking down at her with an indecipherable expression.  
“We need to talk” he growled low.

She took in the sharp alertness, almost jumpiness, the way his wand hand was in his pocket and the forbidding set of his jaw.

“Ok..” she agreed and moved to sit up. He flinched, drawing his wand. 

“Don’t do anything stupid! Slow movements. Keep your hands where I can see them. Don’t lie to me either, Granger.. I’ll know if you do!”

Hermione gave him a look that made clear that she thought he was mental.   
“Draco.. I’m unarmed..You of all people know that. I just woke up from a coma and I’m in a auror-secured- room. Just what do you think I’m going to do?!”

Draco didn’t put his wand away but he seemed to calm down a bit, as if reassured that no.. she wasn’t going to curse him wandlessly.

“What happened between you and the Dark Lord?!” he hissed quietly, through gritted teeth, as if afraid the walls might have ears.

Hermione was certain the walls had ears here - especially now.   
“I’ve already told Harry, Draco – I don’t want to talk about anything that happened to me there. With anyone. I don’t want to think about it. I just want to move on.”

Draco did not seem satisfied with this. He opened his mouth to demand a better answer and she held up her hand, cutting him off, and beckoned him closer. He glared at her, but eventually he grudgingly moved close enough for her to put her lips close to his ear.

She whispered softly “I’m not prepared to discuss anything that happened with you or the aurors, however if you force me to, I will tell everyone about the time you used the cruciatus on me. I will tell them how you were given the choice and eagerly cursed me for several minutes. I’ll give them my memory of it, if they want.   
I have nothing against you, Draco... I’ve always thought you were one of the most intelligent students at Hogwarts, even if you did behave like a spoiled, bigoted little jerk... I have no intention of trying to hold this over your head but I’m not going to allow you to try to blackmail me either. I really think it’s better for both of us if we just forget all about that time and get on with our lives.”

Draco moved back with a slow, calculating expression again. He seemed somehow reassured, although she rather thought that what she said should have had the opposite effect, really.

“I think.. we can both come to an agreement about that...for the moment.   
We’ll talk again.. Later. When you’re out of here.   
...Preferably at the Manor”  
He offered an inappropriately smug smirk.   
“of course... you wouldn’t have heard. I’ve received my inheritance early, after mother and father fell in the last days of the war. When I have settled these annoying formalities and cleared my family’s name, I will probably be the most eligible bachelor in the European Wizarding world.”

Hermione gave him a long even stare. He had as much as screamed out joyfully that he’d slaughtered his parents for profit. Why was he even telling her this?!

Draco’s smirk widened ferally.  
“...when you find that you need somewhere to go, Granger,.. somewhere secure...where you won’t be hounded by well-meaning idiots like half the degenerates out there in the corridors – you can owl me. I’ve space to spare and I’m sure we’ll have...very interesting...fireside chats.”

She raised a sceptical brow and wondered just what his bloody angle was now?! She was still wondering after Draco had swanned out of the room looking like an entirely different person than he had when he came in. Confident, smug, polished.. Almost as annoying as he used to be.

 

 

Luckily, no one else managed to just stroll in as Draco had, and she remained tense but undisturbed until Harry returned a bit later. He seemed upset but composed and when she asked him if she could put off seeing anyone else till tomorrow, because she was very tired, he sighed and looked at her sadly, but nodded.   
“They’ll be disappointed, Mione.. but I’m sure they’ll understand. I’ll stay with you though.. That’s ok, isn’t it?! You don’t want me to leave?!”

The anxious need in his voice and the way he clung to her hand again found her last heartstring and twisted it. She shook her head. “no.. You can stay, Harry. I’d never ask you to leave..”

Reassured, he dragged his chair closer and transfigured it to be somewhat less uncomfortable. She curled down in bed and pulled the covers up around her ears, the arm that Harry seemingly refused to relinquish sticking out of the blankets. When she closed her eyes she could still feel him watching her.  
It was an odd feeling. When she’d been in the cage, lots of different death eaters had watched her while she was awake or asleep. But the feeling of Harry watching her reminded her more of the way that she felt when she knew Voldemort was attending to her, even thought he didn’t watch her.   
It was almost comforting. 

At one point she woke up briefly when a healer came in and performed some tests on her. She was barely alert enough to register that there were more yellow than orange hues and no purple at all on the diagnostic spell. Harry talked with the man for a while but she wasn’t interested and went back to sleep quite quickly. Her hand, she noticed before she dropped off, had been placed on the dark blue denim of Harry’s jeans and his own covered it, thumb stroking from time to time.

She hoped he’d be gone when she woke up.


	12. Chapter 12

She was woken at what felt like the crack of dawn by unnaturally bright light streaming in the massive arched windows in her room.   
She wasn’t used to light. Her entire world had been torchlit for months. In the cage the light didn’t vary much. It was dimmer when the grand hall was empty. When Voldemort was present it was slightly brighter, at least illuminating the servants on the main floor below.   
But there was never actual sunlight.   
She realised that she didn’t like it. 

The second thing she realised, as she was peering out from underneath the blankets she’d defensively pulled up over her head, was that Harry was still there. At some point she had reclaimed her hand but for all the good that might have done, he was even closer than if she’d left it where it was.   
At some point he’d obviously leaned forward in the chair and now his head was cradled on his arm on top of the mattress beside her at about waist height. Long black hair had fallen in his face and his breath was soft and slow and regular as he slept. 

She suppressed the sudden irrational temptation to knee him in the head. 

Frowning she lifted the covers on the other side of the bed and tried to slip out. Halfway out, her feet had just touched the floor when a sudden darting grip on her wrist made her nearly jump out of her skin.

“Mione?” Harry’s sleepy voice sounded concerned. 

“Just going to the bathroom, Harry. Calm down. I’m fine.”

There was a soft gasp. She half turned to see what was the matter. Harry seemed to be staring fixedly at her behind. Jumping up she whirled around, pointing the offending body part in another direction. Her gown seemed to whirl a bit widely in the process and she pushed it down with her hands in front.

“Er... you do know that the back of your.. um.. nightie.. or whatever it is.. is open?! Its..its got no back!”

She had actually been noticing a bit of a draft, but at his words and the realisation that Harry had just seen her bum, she turned bright red and thrust her hands behind her, pulling the stupid gown closed. Who would have bloody thought that St Mungo’s would adopt the WORST possible part of muggle hospitals.   
“No. I hadn’t. ...thank you. I’m.. i’m just going to find the bathroom. I’ll...be back..”

When he started to get up she put out a hand to gesture him to stop, holding her stupid gown closed with the other.   
“No.. you ..stay here..or.. go and have breakfast or something.. I don’t need help going to the bathroom.”

“Mione..” he started uncertainly but she was already at the door letting herself out. 

Shit. She could see George Weasley down the corridor talking to a blonde haired girl. She turned away quickly and hurried along the wall. Surely there would be a bathroom somewhere in this direction. She had no wish to talk to anyone this morning. Truth be told, she didn’t even need to use the bathroom – but it was a destination that was away from Harry.. away from everyone else who might be around here and it was somewhere where no one could come in and start talking to her.   
If she could, she’d stay all day in the bathroom. 

She was looking behind her when she got to the corner, making sure that George hadn’t spotted her, so she didn’t notice the figure walking around the corner at the same time and bounced back with a squeak.   
It was Mediwitch Medina.  
She looked both furious and gleeful. Hermione groaned aloud.

“Miss Granger – what are you doing out of bed?! Just where do you think you’re going?! You have not been given permission to roam! Do you know how dangerous it is for you to be wandering about the corridors?! It is only your room that has been warded against unauthorised entry. If you are going to go for a walk whenever you like, the Aurors might as well not have bothered putting up protection wards for you!”

“I.. I was going to the bathroom” Hermione stammered, hating the fact that the old bulldog had made her nervous. 

“Do you not know how St Mungos operates, girl? If you were in need of a bathroom, one would have appeared in your room! What are you really doing? Where were you going? I’ve been well informed about where you’ve been for the last months.. perhaps you were running off to send a message to some former associates?”

Hermione gaped, shocked. The woman thought she was a death eater!!   
“EXCUSE ME?!!” she started up like a claxon, no longer caring who heard. “I AM NEITHER A DEATH EATER, NOR A DEATH EATER ASSOCIATE. HOW DARE ..you...” she petered out as she became suddenly aware that the corridor she was in had gained at least a dozen people who were all staring at her. Half of them were people she had known before she’d been abducted.   
“I just.. needed to be alone.. for a while..” she whispered faintly, her eyes darting from face to face. Most of them looked shocked.. More than half wore expressions of pity.

“Well you’ll have to go back to your room. You are not to leave it unless accompanied by aurors. You are putting other patients in danger by being out here. There are still many death eaters at large. No doubt, if what you say is true, at least some of them will wish you dead.”  
The brisk tone was utterly emotionless and Hermione was sure that the bloody witch still suspected her of being a death eater, even if she didn’t come out and say it. Nevertheless she allowed herself to be herded back to her room and avoided the gazes of George, Tonks and several other order members she couldn’t have spoken to more than a couple of times in her life. A hand on her shoulder made her flinch away. It was Harry. Apparently he’d followed her out of the room too. He looked a bit hurt. She swallowed and looked away from him too as she walked behind mediwitch Medina back into her room, feeling like a prisoner being led to a cell. 

The scan was deemed much better than those of the previous day and she was given a jug of ice water. The mediwitch then left to speak with Harry. 

She was sitting idly daydreaming as she stared at the play of light on the wall when the door opened and two figures sidled inside.

“Wotcha Hermione..” a voice she hadn’t heard in a long time called softly, as if they were concerned someone might hear them. 

Reluctantly she abandoned her fantasy in which it hadn’t been Voldemort she’d killed at all but just a polyjuiced death eater, and turned her head, sluggishly.   
Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt had let themselves in and, by the way that Kingsley was staying by the door while Tonks moved closer, a big ‘we’re-all-best-buddies’ grin on her face, they hadn’t consulted Harry first.   
Or maybe they had consulted Harry and he’d said no.   
Tonks had short shoulder length hair in a dull brown shade with white ends. Hermione supposed this was ‘not attracting attention’ Tonks. Her standard black longcoat was stark against the white walls and she was wearing blue and black striped jeans. 

“How are you feeling then?..” Tonks asked insincerely. Hermione just looked at her blankly. She was in St Mungo’s. Enough said. 

At her silence, the young witch seemed to be a bit unsettled. “I know you’re still healing and all.. but ..look.. we just need to ask you some questions. It’s just a formality. Just so that we can say we’ve spoken to you.. so that no one else comes in and bothers you. You know we’re your friends! You can talk to us, right?” 

Hermione shook her head slowly. “No.” 

The other two in the room looked outright concerned now. “Hermione, hon – you have to talk to someone. Its procedure. You’ve been you-know-who’s captive for months.. There’s things you could tell us that would be-

Hermione huffed irritatedly. “Yes. That’s right. I’ve been Voldemort’s prisoner for months. He is dead now.. I saw him die and I don’t remember anything that happened there, ok?! I’ve blocked it all out.   
You’re not here as my friends. You’re here as Auror Tonks and Auror Shacklebolt and I don’t want to talk to you.   
Really... I don’t want to talk to anyone.. I just want everyone to leave me alone.”

Kingsley strode across the floor with a deeply worried expression. “Hermione – You must reconsider. Evil men will go free if you do not tell us what you have experienced. Please understand”

“NO!”   
She clenched her eyes shut.  
She said with quiet, deadly seriousness “I do not remember. And I don’t care. I just want to go home. I want everyone to leave me alone.” In her irritation she almost added ‘the only person who has spoken to me in almost a year has been Voldemort and I just can’t stand all of this... your voices are wrong.. the light.. there’s too much..going on.. I hate it here.”

She could just imagine how demanding they would become if they thought she’d been talking to Voldemort for a year. Harry wouldn’t have been able to get her out of that, probably.  
The saviour in question burst through the door at that moment looking livid. 

“What the fuck?! Get out! – I already told you to leave her alone. Kingsley – what the hell is wrong with you?! I said she was upset and didn’t want to talk to you right now!”   
He drew his wand.   
Tonks and Kingsley exchanged a meaningful expression as they moved very slowly toward the door, each of them glancing back at her warily.  
“Are you ok, Mione?” Harry asked worriedly as he shuffled them out and moved to close the door. 

She shook her head. “I want to go home, Harry” The plaintive tone was not at all simulated but she doubted he understood what she meant.   
Home was gone now. No doubt it was crawling with aurors. He wouldn’t be there anymore. She could hardly ask Harry to put her in a cage.  
For a moment she considered it even so. 

“I’ll.. I’ll see what I can do, Mione.. Do you think you might be able to talk to Ginny and Ron this afternoon. They’re both coming in to see you again. I know they’re worried. I don’t want to push you but..well..”  
He turned green puppy dog eyes on her and she wanted to swear. Damn him for knowing exactly how to push her buttons.  
Seeing Ron and Ginny was inevitable but she still really didn’t want to. 

“Sure” she heard herself respond.

Harry brightened wearily and moved over to sit on the side of her bed. “Great, Mione. It’ll be fine, you’ll see. Everyone is upset right now.. everyone’s lost people who were close to them. They’re... we’re all just happy you’re alive.”

Hermione sighed inwardly. A number of people had lost people because of her. 

“Maybe..I should tell you a bit about what happened here after you were taken?” Harry offered hesitantly. 

She managed to perk up at that. She did..in principle... want to know what had happened while she was sitting listening to endless Death Eater meetings. She might.. not really feel in the mood for it right now, but better to get it over with!

“Ok!” she agreed and offered a small smile.

 

Harry was initially quite sheepish and apologetic as he told her about the day she’d been snatched out of Flourish and Blotts.   
They had all been in Diagon Alley together; She, Harry, Ginny and an auror who had kept his distance, watching over them. Ron had been helping Fred and George out in the shop that day and they’d planned to stop in and visit him later.   
When Hermione had naturally gravitated to the bookstore immediately, Harry and Ginny had looked around the aisles for a while patiently enough, but Hermione had been up to her elbows in books by then and Ginny had wanted to go and check out the quidditch supplies. Harry had delayed and tried to keep everyone together, wanting them all to stay with Hermione in the bookstore but she’d waved him off unthinkingly, distracted and irritated with the way he’d kept hovering when she was trying to read. The auror who had been accompanying them went of course with Harry. 

Hermione had never had any idea who had taken her. One minute she’d been reading about rare magical languages and the next she’d been waking up groggy in a cage. 

It seemed Harry still felt quite bad that he had put Ginny’s idiotic selfishness before Hermione’s idiotic selfishness that day. 

Hermione thought he was being typically Harry and told him as much.   
“He planned it, Harry. It wasn’t a random abduction. If they hadn’t managed to grab me there, they would have succeeded somewhere else.”   
She was about to point out that they could have tried to take her when she was at home with her parents and that would have been much worse.. but recent events were so horrible. Would it really have been worse if death eaters had killed them? At least she wouldn’t have their blood on her hands.   
She felt a moment of black guilt for having spent so much energy essentially mourning and regretting the death of someone who had forced her to kill them. She hadn’t thought about them again since Voldemort had died. His death eclipsed everything.

“-to Hogwarts and wouldn’t let me leave the Gryffindor common room for days. Everyone kept telling me that I’d been lucky and that they were probably after me. Then Professor Dumbledore called me up to his office...and told me that the order had found your... your body. Hermione.. I’m sorry. I should have kept fighting. I didn’t believe it at first. I thought they were just telling me it so that I wouldn’t do anything to try and get you back.”  
He smiled sadly.  
“Turns out that was exactly what they were doing. They thought I’d run to Voldemort and try to fight him immediately, nevermind the horcruxes.”

He looked off to the window and she thought she saw a dark shadow fall in his eyes. He looked older again. Harder.   
“You were right about Draco.” He admitted softly.  
“Well.. I was too.. but you were more right. In the end he wasn’t a death eater. Not really.” He smiled bitterly. “I..forced him to be one.” He said so quietly that she could barely hear it.  
“A few weeks after you’d been taken.. Professor Dumbledore asked me to come to his office after dinner. He...didn’t tell me why.. I didn’t realise what we were about till he’d side along apparated me to some rock in the ocean.  
...There was this..cave. And he made me promise to obey him. Whatever happened.. I had to do what he said.”

Hermione felt a faint discomfort. The word obey. It was nothing but it made her feel a bit odd.   
She had a strange image for a second of Harry in a silver cage and Dumbledore telling him that he had to obey. It was funny... in a sick kind of way. 

“-a lake.. inside. And in the middle of the lake there was this kind of..raised bowl of black liquid. I had to make Professor Dumbledore drink it... all of it.. even though he begged me not to..   
It was horrible. It was poisoning him. I could see it and I still had to keep making him drink it.   
And when it was gone he asked me for water. I couldn’t make any. I tried to get some from the lake and then there were all these inferi.. I didn’t know what to do. I panicked.. He saved me and burned them all.. but it was a close thing. And it was all for nothing..” He looked down bitterly. 

“The horcrux was a fake. Regulus Black had stolen it and replaced it with a fake.. At the time I didn’t have any idea who’d done it.. and no idea where to find the real horcrux. Professor Dumbledore was dying and it was all for nothing.”  
She tried to feel sympathy. She really tried. Faintly it was somewhere down there... but mostly she was simulating. When she’d heard that the headmaster had died, she’d not been particularly upset about it..she’d been shocked, but not really broken up. The other things happening at the time were far more pressing. When Harry went on to tell her about watching Draco disarm and then, crying, fail to kill Dumbledore, she wasn’t even surprised. Voldemort had told her as much. 

“He was lowering his wand when Snape arrived. I watched Snape use the killing curse on Professor Dumbledore. I chased him.. but he was so much stronger. He didn’t even have to try hard to disarm me. He could have killed me. I didn’t understand why he didn’t. I only found out the day after you were put into sleep that Draco’s mother had gone to Snape and asked him to protect him.. he’d sworn an unbreakable vow to carry out the task if Draco failed. Then Professor Dumbledore had made him promise to kill him so that Draco wouldn’t have to. Snape was on the order’s side all along..   
and..Draco told me Voldemort had threatened to kill his mother if he didn’t manage the task he’d set.”

Hermione blinked, confused. Draco hadn’t seemed overly protective of dear mummy and daddy yesterday when he’d informed her gleefully that they’d both been killed in the final battle, leaving him a rich, powerful wizard. It didn’t add up at all. She made a note of it and tried to catch up with Harry’s story. He was telling her about how Draco had contacted him. Terrified and in hiding, the Malfoy heir had contacted him through an anonymous post owl. He’d thought it was a trap initially and ignored it. When Draco had begged and had sent the ring with his family crest and a signed parchment promising that he would come to a certain meeting place at a certain time unarmed and alone, he’d taken it a bit more seriously. Harry had met with him and Draco had made an oath to him personally.. and then he’d ordered him to go crawling back to Voldemort to beg for the dark mark. With Snape untrustworthy, the order had needed someone else inside the death eaters that they could rely on.   
Draco hadn’t wanted to do it.. and Harry had used the oath to force him. 

It was clear that he felt very guilty about it.   
She remembered all the times she’d seen Draco in the grand hall screaming under the cruciatus. Harry deserved to feel guilty. 

It hadn’t been long after that that they’d run away to hunt for the remaining horcruxes. They hadn’t told anyone they were going. Harry and Ron had planned to go alone but Ginny had caught them leaving and threatened to tell everyone if they didn’t let her come. After an angry discussion in which she ended up hexing her older brother and threatening to do the same to Harry, they’d relented and Ginny left with them.   
Harry said that he thought now that it was probably for the best since Voldemort had taken over the Ministry of Magic soon after and then Hogwarts. With the stories he’d heard from the students who’d been back at school – he didn’t think that Ginny would have been safer there.

Hermione curled down in bed and listened amiably for the next couple of hours while Harry recounted the adventures he’d been through with Ron and Ginny. She could hear the subtext almost immediately. Harry and Ginny were together.   
Obviously.   
It had probably been very hard for Ron to deal with, living in a tent as they were, and when Harry said that Ron had left them for a while at one point because he couldn’t stand the effects of the horcrux, Hermione figured that it had probably also had something to do with the fact that he was alone while his sister and his best friend snogged and looked at one another with googly eyes constantly. 

The stories about finding and destroying the horcruxes left her cold. 

“I was worried about Nagini. He had her hidden.. We couldn’t move forward till all of his horcruxes were gone, you see. If I’d killed him and a horcrux had still been around...well.. I don’t know what would happen. Professor Dumbledore insisted before he died that they all had to be destroyed before Voldemort was killed.   
So we spent a month waiting.. searching.. And then I had a dream. I hadn’t dreamed about him in ages. I guess it was because he was close to the horcrux. Lots of the other dreams i’d had, he was with Nagini. I think maybe she made it harder for him to occlude or something.   
Anyway.. in the dream he was carrying her in a big bubble. He apparated them both to a jungle and cast a lot of spells. Then he released her and told her to be safe.. to hide..and that he would be coming back for her when it was over. He seemed worried and that was great. To know he was worried that he might lose.. It was amazing.   
The dream ended a bit after that and I had no idea where the jungle was that he’d put Nagini. I extracted the memory and then we went back to the order. We needed Professor Sprout to identify the plants and tell us where to look. But when we got back we found out just how many of the order had been taken.. or had died. She wasn’t there.   
Luckily.. some of the DA members had escaped from Hogwarts a little time before and Neville was there. He recognised the plants and actually managed to narrow down the location of the dream to within a few square miles. It was in Brazil. 

I went with Ron, Kingsley and a couple of the others and we used the horcrux detection spell from brooms over the rainforest till we found the first sign of Nagini.   
We trapped her as quickly as we could. I was sure that Voldemort would feel it and come to protect her with a load of death eaters but he didn’t. I killed her with the sword of Gryffindor. I cut off her head.   
After that everything went very quickly. We wanted to attack as soon as we could just in case he decided to make more Horcruxes. Professor Dumbledore had said that he didn’t think it would be possible to make more – that having so many was already weakening Voldemort as it was – but we didn’t want to take the chance.   
Draco got us in. He made portkeys. We had to..”   
Harry grimaced.  
“Um. we - or at least the order - ..had been killing death eaters for a while. Draco had told us that no one could get in through the wards unless they were wearing a dark mark.   
So ..we skinned the dark mark from the death eaters we got our hands on. Or.. other people did that. I was told about it just before we needed to go..when Draco gave me one of the..um..   
In any case... it worked. We managed to get thirty people in. I forced Ginny to stay at home. I didn’t want her in danger.   
I thought.. I thought he’d have an army of death eaters around him.. I didn’t think he’d be alone like that. Guess I was lucky. Maybe he was arrogant and thought that he wouldn’t need them.”

Hermione struggled not to laugh bitterly.  
He hadn’t needed them. He could have wiped the floor with Harry ten times over with the smallest effort. She had no idea why he’d apparently chosen to use the killing curse when that had already failed on Harry once before.   
Did Harry truly believe that he’d killed him?! 

Probably it was for the best. Draco had made sure that Harry would believe it. It would be easier for the wizarding world to accept that the prophesized saviour had succeeded and killed the evil monster in the end. 

Harry was looking at her uncertainly.

She turned a questioning look upon him. He looked nervous.

“Uh... there’s something else. Er.. Something good.. or at least I think it’s good news.”

She waited, still looking at him with polite question.

“Ginny and I are engaged!” he said softly and offered a nervous smile for a second. “We’re going to be married in the spring. Ginny said she wanted the wedding to be a time of new beginnings”

Hermione’s stomach dropped out and she knew she hadn’t quite managed to keep the sickly expression from her face by the way Harry’s smile faltered and he looked concerned again.  
She wrenched herself together. This was not news. She’d known this from the beginning. Even Voldemort had said it was going to happen. Harry would marry Ginny, become an Auror and have a little cottage with a million screaming children. It had always been going to end this way.  
She smiled and it almost felt like a genuine smile. “Oh Harry.. that’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you both.”

Harry looked wary and uncertain. “Is it? I’m...” He swallowed and shook his head slightly.   
“...You’re right. It’s perfect. I’ve always known that I could be happy with Ginny. Hermione.. you can’t know what it was like when we were in the forest with the horcrux locket. It whispered terrible things in your head.. all the time.. But Ginny stayed by my side. She was strong for me. We were strong for each other. She saved my life more than once.   
Course.. so did Ron.. but..” he petered out and looked uncertain again. His green eyes flicked up to meet hers and seemed to be pleading. For what, she didn’t know.   
Understanding perhaps? Acceptance? What did he want from her?!   
Had Harry always known that she’d had a massive crush on him?!   
The way he was looking at her suggested to her now that he had.. and that he realised that this wasn’t such great news for her.   
But she didn’t have that crush anymore. She didn’t want Harry. The one wizard she wanted now, she couldn’t have.   
And wasn’t that just painfully ironic?! 

“Its great news, Harry” she reassured him quietly, a tentative smile on her lips again. He seemed to sigh and nodded wearily back at her. “I know.” He said sadly. 

He bit his lip, as if unsure whether to say something.  
“Hermione.. Ron was...really upset..when we thought you were dead. Really upset. He said that he’d never known how important you were till it was too late. He...you know he loved you, right?”

God, the way he was looking at her. As if she was made of spun crystal and might crack at any second. She knew no such thing. She knew that Ron was a selfish, self absorbed, well-meaning, but ultimately dim and dull child. He was funny at times.. he was sometimes a good friend.. but he was never..ever..in a million years comparable with Voldemort.   
Or even with Harry. And Harry certainly didn’t hold a candle to Voldemort either.

“Did he?” she answered airily, knowing that it was not the best thing to do. It was unnecessarily cruel. “Did he tell Lavender Brown that?”

Harry frowned slightly. “He.. was a bit..daft about it. Ok. He even said that himself when it was too late – or when he thought it was too late. But he loved you. He thought you were too good for him.. that you’d never be interested in him. He can be a bit..well a bit funny.. about things like that – you know that. He’s got some self esteem issues.”

I was too good for him, Hermione thought to herself. And I always will be. I’d rather be alone than with Ronald Weasley. 

“But.. after he found out that you were still alive.. Hermione you have to believe me – he was so happy. He wanted to wait here for you to wake up. I had a hard time talking him into giving you some space until I’d spoken to you. He’s desperate to see you again. To apologise..”  
The way he said it, she was sure that the apology part had been all Harry’s insistence. Probably Ron had just thought it would be enough to rush her into his arms and tell her he loved her.  
“He...” Harry eyed her again worriedly.  
“Hermione.. please..give him a chance. Please! Its.. I know you liked him.. I know you were hurt about Lavender at the time.. so I know you must have liked him at least for a while. Can’t you find that feeling again?! It could be so perfect! We’d all be together forever.. the way it was meant to be. You’d be happy, Hermione. I’m sure of it. I’d make sure that Ron didn’t forget how lucky he was to have had a second chance with you.”

She stared at him blankly. She’d expected that Ron would in some way expect her to be with him now.. but she hadn’t considered that Harry would see it that way too. Never in a million years had she considered that the boy who she’d adored might try to push her into Ron’s arms.. might give her the puppy dog eyes she so often fell for, to try to persuade her to accept being with someone who she knew..who they both knew in fact, would never be right for her..would never appreciate her in the slightest..would never be able to hold an interesting conversation with her. 

It was disappointing. 

“Harry.. I do not love Ron. I will never love Ron. I am glad that he found Lavender. Maybe they can both be happy together now”

A low burning feeling warmed her. She realised that she was satisfied that Lavender Brown was dead. She didn’t regret it anymore. 

Harry looked sad.   
“I wish..” he started, but shook his head again and looked away. “I understand, Mione” he amended softly. “I don’t..blame you.. I feel terrible for Ron.. he’s going to be completely destroyed by this when he realises that he really did blow his one chance with you. He honestly loves you. But I understand. I’m...i’m sorry that everything worked out the way that it did. If i’d known-..”

There was a soft knock on the door. 

Hermione stiffened. She knew it would be them. Both of them. The two people she least wanted to see in all the world. She’d much rather sit down and have tea and crucio with Bellatrix Lestrange and Peter Pettigrew than face Ron and Ginny right now.

Harry stood up and, with a hesitant worried glance at her, walked to the door and opened it, revealing red hair and nervous excited freckled faces.

Ron surged past him as if propelled by rockets and was at her bedside in a fraction of a second. She blinked and schooled her features as she was captured and caught up in a hug that was shaken with her former friend’s overwrought sobs. She could barely see Harry’s face over the top of Ron’s shoulder and looked at him with a ‘help!!’ expression. He only smiled sadly and turned back to Ginny, who walked more calmly into the room.   
She could only see the top half of Ginny’s face but the girl was wearing the same calm contented expression that Harry had been wearing from time to time. Her blue eyes scanned the image before her and she frowned faintly, looking then at Harry with questioning irritation and even slight suspicion.

Finally Ron released her enough to pull back and look down into her face. His own was soggy with tears and twisted in emotion. “Mione!! I’m so happy you’re alive! Don’t die again, Mione. You.. I have to.. Mione!!!!” he wailed and pulled her against him again, clenching onto her as if she might run away at the first opportunity – which she would if she had any say in it. 

“Ron! Ron.. calm down” she said, the words muffled. “..hurting me”

He let go abruptly and looked terrified. “oh Merlin. You’re hurt! Right! Sorry. I.. I didn’t think. I didn’t mean to. I’ll.. I’ll never hurt you again, Mione. I promise! You’re ok..right? Should I call the mediwitch?!”

She placed about as much confidence in that promise as she did in the notion that she could pick Ronald Weasley up by one hand right now, toss him out the window and then walk out of this stupid situation before she had to deal with Ginny at all. 

“No. It’s alright.. just.. i’m a bit fragile.. right now” she tried. Would that be enough to stop Ronald from manhandling her?! “and.. “ she glanced at Harry briefly “And.. I don’t really..want anyone to touch me.. for the moment.. either”

Harry had the sense to look a bit abashed and guilty. “er.. yeah.. I’ll talk to you about that later Ron.. alright?”

Ron looked confused and his gaze flicked between them both with slow suspicion. “No.. it’s not alright.. what is it, Harry?!” he insisted with a low threat in his voice. “Tell me now!”

Ginny, from somewhere behind Ron, seemed to have picked up on Harry’s alarmed expression better than her brother because it was clear that she understood when she told Ron. “Leave off, alright. Harry said we’d talk about it later. Just let it go.”   
She stepped out from behind Ron and approached with a stricken understanding expression. “Are you really ok, Hermione.” Obviously she’d worked out what the apparent issue was.. or at least what Harry believed the apparent issue was.  
Hermione didn’t even notice the question. Her eyes were stuck around Ginny’s midsection, which bulged her robes in a soft curve. 

“Congratulations” she heard herself say weakly. 

Harry was at her side in a second, looking worried. “I was just about to tell you about that. We’re expecting.”

She snorted faintly. “I had noticed that, thanks, Harry.” She didn’t roll her eyes but she turned her gaze back upon Ginny, who she noted now was scrutinising her more carefully than Professor Snape ever had.   
“I’m so happy for you, Ginny!” she gushed as convincingly as she could. “How far along are you?”

Ginny’s face transformed into bright smiles and pride as she stepped closer against Harry, wrapping his arm around her. “Thanks Hermione. I knew you wouldn’t be as daft about it as Ron and my parents were. It doesn’t matter if we weren’t married. We will be when she’s born. I’m just over five months along now.. She should be born about a month after the wedding. We’ve decided to name her Lilly after Harry’s mum. Now though...” Her face cracked into one of deep sadness “After what’s happened to...mum.. we..we’re thinking we’ll name her Lilly Molly. So that mum can be honoured too. I know the name is a bit funny sounding but..” she shrugged and sighed.

Hermione thought the name was patently absurd. Lilly Molly Potter. God. It was awful. 

“I think it’s a lovely gesture, Ginny” she told her. 

Harry grimaced slightly. 

“Hermione.. I need to talk to you” Ron intruded impatiently. “Alone. Harry.. could you give us a minute, mate?!”

Panic raced through her and she looked at Harry imploringly, begging him not to leave her alone with Ron. He only sighed unhappily and said “sure”, avoiding her eyes then. Ginny’s eyes were darting between them all, worry and suspicion written large all over her face, before landing on Hermione again finally with that scrutinising expression.   
“Come on, Gin.” Harry said, taking her hand and tugging her toward the door.   
“Hermione.. I’ll be just outside” he reassured her before he left. 

She nodded numbly and a moment later the door was closing, leaving her trapped in bed with Ron’s pale, nervous, overly emotional form hovering around her.

The silence stretched on as he stared at her with something like desperation. 

She broke it finally. “What did you want to talk about, Ronald?!”  
It was mean, she knew. But she really didn’t want to have this conversation. Hopefully if she used his full name as she did when she wasn’t pleased with him, he’d...  
Well no.. there was obviously no way he was going to just leave it alone.. He was a stubborn idiot. He’d have to say his piece and then when she turned him down he’d get nasty. There’d be the inevitable storming out and sulking and she’d be an evil witch again.

She sighed, wishing it was over and done with already.

“Hermione..” he started, swallowing several times as if his throat was dry. Spying her ice water he reached for it automatically and poured himself a glass, throwing it back quickly. 

It barely annoyed her that he hadn’t even asked. 

“Hermione.. I..” his voice cracked. “I’m... really, really, glad you’re alive.”   
A wide nervous smile.  
“When you.. when they said you were dead.. I thought I’d never have the chance to speak to you again. I..   
Mionovu!!!”

She blinked and furrowed her brow. “what?!” she asked confused.

He took a deep breath and then another.   
“Mione.. I love you..”   
The relief on his face was painful to look at. She lowered her eyes to the white blankets covering her.

“I never told you.. I.. I thought.. It doesn’t matter what I thought. I was an idiot. I love you, Mione. I love you more than anything. I’m..i’m sorry about..Lavender.. I.. thought there would be time. I wanted to be..more..experienced.. Better..for you.. I didn’t think..” he frowned, seeing her disapproval.

Not only had he been a jerk with Lavender Brown – but he hadn’t even really cared for her? That was worse! 

“I...this is all coming out wrong now. Mione you know i’m not good with words. Just...please.. you have to believe me. I love you. I’ve always loved you. Please...give me a chance to show you. I’ll never do anything so bloody stupid again!   
Mione.. We’re meant to be together. From the first day.. you know? Please..”

“I’m sorry Ron.” She said softly.

“Sorry?! Why are you sorry? Don’t be sorry, Mione. Just say you’ll let me be with you!”

“I can’t do that. I’m sorry Ron. I don’t feel the same way. I won’t pretend to love you because it would be convenient for us to be together since Harry and Ginny are getting married.   
I don’t love you.”

Ron took a wounded step back, horror and pain all over his face.

“But.. I apologised, Mione. I told you I loved you.. I... You’re supposed to..”

“I don’t care what anyone thinks i’m supposed to do. I can not and will not lie about how I feel to keep anyone else happy.   
I don’t love you Ron. I’m very sorry to hurt you but it would be worse to let you believe in something that isn’t real. You will be happier with someone else.”  
She didn’t add that she would too. She suspected that she wouldn’t be happy with anyone anyway now.

“Is it Harry?” he asked suddenly. She could see the dark petulant streak in him had come to the fore now. All sadness was buried under anger. “Are you still after him?! Even seeing my sister pregnant and hearing how they’re getting married? Is that it?!”

She shook her head faintly. “No Ron. It’s not.”

She could see he didn’t believe her. He was getting ready to start yelling and saying awful things. She could just see it. 

“Stop it right now, Ronald Weasley!” she snapped, before he could start his rant. To her satisfaction he did. He paused and deflated just a tiny bit.

“I’m going to say this one last time and then we’re not going to talk about it anymore. You and I are NOT at all suited. I despise quidditch, I have no interest in cooking or raising a family and I will never love you the way you want to be loved. You do not read, you are preoccupied with fame and you do not attract me physically. There would be no point in our dating. If we married it would end badly. If not in death, then in misery for one or both of us.   
You are NOT going to be nasty over this.   
You are not going to take it out on me for months and try to blame Harry somehow. This is nothing to do with anyone else and your anger will not change anything.   
You promised that you wouldn’t hurt me anymore – well you were about to break that promise already. No doubt whatever you were about to say would have been very hurtful.   
If you truly love me – and i’m sorry to say, I don’t believe you really do, I think you just love the idea of me – but if you feel any love for me at all, you’ll accept this just like you learned to accept it when you thought I’d died.   
I understand if you need some time but if you care for me, you’ll find a way to move on and you’ll be a friend.   
If you can’t be a friend then I don’t think we’ll know each other much longer because that’s honestly all I can offer.”

Ron looked shellshocked. His expression shifted to bitter anger again and he opened his mouth.

She raised a hand to hold his venom off for a moment.

“Think before you say anything, Ronald. I will not let you take it back. Perhaps it would be better if you went away and thought about what you really want to say. You have a tendency to say things you later regret when you’re very upset.”

His blue eyes narrowed in pained anger and he closed his mouth. 

She thought for a moment that she might have actually gotten through to him.   
Then he had to go and ruin it.

“Whatever You Know Who did to you - you’re as much of a bitch as you ever were, Hermione! I wish he really had killed you! Better than having you back here to fuck everything up for everyone else.” he snarled and whirled, rushing out of the room furiously, slamming the door after him.

Hermione took a deep breath.

Well. That had gone better than expected. 

And at least he wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon.   
She’d offered friendship.. but she really wanted to tell him to go away and leave her alone for the foreseeable future. This was fine too.

The door opened again and she braced herself for round two.

It was Harry. He poked his head in the door sheepishly.

“I’m sorry, Mione... If I’d have dragged him off without letting him pour his heart out – he’d have been angry with me and he’d still have insisted on trying.”

She shrugged.  
“at least it’s over.” She muttered.

He looked back behind himself, at Ginny she presumed, and then he slid in the door and closed it behind him. He looked jumpy.. nervous. Averse.. as if he was about to do something he didn’t want to do. 

When he got to the side of her bed he sat down on the edge as he had been before. For a moment he calmed and his hand started to reach for hers, before he caught himself and pulled it back, looking nervous and uncomfortable again. 

“I’ve..spoken to the healer.” He started. She knew it was a tangent. Whatever he was worried about wasn’t this. “He said that you’re well enough to go home tonight, provided you agree to stay in bed for another couple of days and rest. He gave me detailed instructions on what you can and can’t eat or drink and a list of potions you’ll have to take for a week.”

Home.

Where was home then?! Would she be staying with Harry?! 

“Hermione.. I need to talk to you. It’s...serious now.. ok.. You’re not...” He bit his lip and, to her horror he actually blushed slightly. “You’re not.. um..”

“I’m not?...” she prompted impatiently although she could somehow feel the shape of the embarrassing conversation looming up ahead.

“You dont.. er...” His eyes shifted in embarrassment. 

Rolling her eyes, she decided to put him out of his misery.   
“no Harry. I don’t fancy you.” She said flatly. “Is that all?!”

He looked overwhelmed. Relieved and pleased.. but in a weird way she thought he also looked a little disappointed.   
Maybe he’d enjoyed the fact that apparently every single female in his world worshipped him.  
Well.. he’d get used to the idea of her not wanting to touch him with a twenty foot pole. 

“That’s.. That’s good, Mione. Just.. Gin was.. or really.. both Ron and Gin had the funny idea that you used to ..like me.. a bit.. in that way. They were both..worried.. that what with everything that’s happened.. and me rescuing you and-“

“No.” she cut him off.  
“You are the last person in the world I’d want, Harry.”

Ok.. that was maybe a bit much. He looked upset now. 

“That is.. we’re just friends. We’ve always been just friends and that won’t ever change. You’re marrying Ginny. You’re the father of her child. She has nothing whatsoever to be paranoid about and Ron ..well he can get lost, as far as I’m concerned. So there’s nothing we need to discuss”

She hoped that was enough. She couldn’t be bothered being any more delicate than that right now. Ginny and Ron had sunk to all time lows on her list of people she most disliked.

“Oh. Ok.” he said neutrally. “Yeah. Ok.. I’m sorry for bringing it up. Just Ginny wanted...”

“Its fine” she said, just a bit too snippily.   
“I’m really tired now, Harry. Maybe you could go home with them and I’ll just have a sleep.” 

There was no way in hell that she was staying with Harry when they let her out of St Mungos.   
Draco’s offer whispered through her mind but was equally swiftly abandoned. She had no desire to chat about Lord Voldemort with the slippery traitor who’d conned everyone in this situation to his own advantage.

“Mione.. I’m..sorry.” Harry said softly, sounding forlorn. “I didn’t want to upset-“

“I’m not upset.” She snapped. “I’m just tired. Go, Harry. Please.”

He looked troubled but nodded finally and left.

In the silence, the bright white room was even more oppressive. She curled down in the bed and, safe in the knowledge that she wouldn’t be bothered again by Harry or any more Weasleys, she allowed herself to finally have the good cry that she hadn’t had the chance to have yet. Once she’d started, it just poured out of her and she thought she might have actually damaged something in her chest with the way her heart physically ached with sorrow.   
It was all.. ruined. It was all exactly as he’d said it would be.. and she wanted to go back. She wanted to undo it.. Her parents.. Harry. Ron.. Ginny...  
Remus and Hagrid and Professor McGonagall.  
And she supposed, luna and Mrs Weasley and Lavender too.   
But most of all him.

She wanted to go home.   
He was home.   
Nothing would be good now. It would all be an endless parade of pretending that nothing had happened. She didn’t want to stay in the Wizarding world and endure it and she couldn’t even begin to think of trying to go and live in the Muggle world. The thought was just dismal. There was nowhere she wanted to be. Except for the one place she couldn’t be anymore.

When someone knocked on her door she sobbed louder. No. Not more. No.. she couldn’t right now.   
“GO AWAY” she yelled, half choking on a sob and wailing her misery into the pillow.

The door opened and she wished, not for the first time, that she mastered wandless magic because whoever it was, she wanted to curse them!

“Hermione, honey.. Are you alright!?”

She stopped. 

everything stopped.

“Hermione? I’m sorry! Your friend Harry told us that you were hurt.. that you weren’t..well..and wanted to be alone.. but we just couldn’t wait any longer! Sweetie – what have they done to you?! You’ve been missing for a year. A year!! A Professor from your school told us that you were dead!! Hermione.. Please look at me!”

She turned her head, blinking hard, trying to clear her eyes.   
“mum?!” she whimpered, confused.

Her mother was standing a couple of metres away wringing her hands, obviously impatient to comfort her. 

“Mum.. are you real?” she whispered, wondering if she’d gone round the twist. Was this somehow a polyjuiced death eater? What was happening?! 

At her question, Jane Granger rushed closer and wrapped her arms around her.   
“Yes! I’m real. I’m real, Hermione. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t protect you from whatever happened to you. They won’t even tell me what happened. Hermione! You’ll be safe from now on! Your father is outside and we’ll take you home just as soon as the doctor says you can leave. Hermione – whatever it is – you can tell me! We’ll get you any kind of help you need. You’re going to be ok!”  
Her mother was babbling frantically and Hermione could see that she’d burst into tears too.   
This was definitely her mother.

It couldn’t be though. How.. how was this possible?!  
The image of horror and dismay on her mother’s face as the killing curse struck her flashed through Hermione’s mind again. She shuddered and stiffened.

“I’m.. ok. Mum.” She said softly, willing her to let her go. She couldn’t deal with this on top of everything else. 

Jane Granger just held on to her daughter more tightly and cried harder.


	13. Chapter 13

She couldn’t stay here!

It was beyond tolerability. She felt guilty as hell but she couldn’t stay in this bloody house with her wonderful, terribly understanding, completely non-comprehending parents for one more day.   
If she had to comfort and reassure her mother one more time! Or argue with her father about the ‘best thing for her to do now’.   
Aaaaugh.   
TOO. Much. It was beyond enough. It was getting to the point where she needed to leave or she really was going to kill them.

She’d been overjoyed when she’d understood that it actually was her parents – nothing had happened to them. She had no idea how Voldemort had persuaded her to believe she’d really been killing them but obviously, to judge from Harry’s reactions to the news of the others, he hadn’t done that for everyone she’d killed. The others really were missing or confirmed dead. She gave up on pondering the various methods by which she might have been duped when it came to her parents and why he’d do it.  
He’d wanted to know whether she would obey. That was what he’d said it was about.   
And then he’d told her to attack Harry.   
But it didn’t make sense to her even so. It didn’t add up.

An assistant from St Mungo’s had brought her and her parents later that evening to a door that opened onto a muggle street, where her parents had parked the car.   
They’d taken her home and she’d walked around like someone in a dream.   
Everything looked unreal – like a place she thought didn’t exist anymore – as if, by taking her, Voldemort had simultaneously unmade all of the webs of association she had around her. All of it became vague and misty in her mind. Dreams of another life.

She’d looked around and realised just how cruel it was for her to have suddenly reappeared in her parent’s lives as she had. 

It was just..she could tell that they hadn’t been beside themselves with grief anymore.   
They hadn’t been stuck in a hell of continually searching for her everywhere, as they might have been if she’d disappeared in the Muggle world. Unable to verify the information they were given, they were forced to accept that their daughter had been a terrible casualty in a war they did not understand.   
They couldn’t do anything.. and without her, they no longer had any link to the magical world, so it became a war that they not only didn’t understand but that had no bearing on their lives.   
While everyone else had fought and struggled, they’d been going about their lives, working in the dental practice, watching coronation street, eating lamb roast. After a year, the intervals between black despair and angry tears were probably growing longer.   
From the way they had reacted to seeing her again alive, it was clear that they were still very upset about their missing, presumed dead, daughter.. the joy of their lives, the most promising little girl in the world – but that before Harry had called them, they had already begun to deal with her death and move on.   
She could see it by the way that there was a half completed crossword in the evening paper, the way that her mother’s knitting was half unpacked in its bag beside her chair, midway through an aronknit for her father. She could see that her father was partway through a new model – a german frigate with hundreds of fiddly little pieces. There were books with bookmarks in them.   
Life was going on at the gentle pace normal to her parent’s house. 

And now that their daughter was not dead, her parents were obviously feeling terribly guilty for having accepted her loss.. for not spending every moment of her absence crying and searching for her - and so were overcompensating. 

Her father kept trying to persuade her to agree to see a psychologist. He alternated with discussions about which muggle university she might like to attend and where she saw her life going now, after ‘all that trouble with those people’.  
It became frustrating to have the same argument with him over and over. She wasn’t prepared to see a psychologist, psychotherapist, psychiatrist, neurologist, doctor of any description whatsoever, priest or any kind of new age healer. She was not planning on attending muggle university any time soon and had no plans to leave the wizarding world permanently either. She was not certain in which direction her life would be going now but it would start within the magical community and would likely revolve around some aspect therein.  
For goodness sake – the last time she attended muggle school she was ten. There was no way she could go to university. Her father was delusional!

Her mother was worse if that was at all possible. She just kept trying and trying to force Hermione to tell her what had happened. She seemed to think it was very important for her to ‘get it off her chest’

Hermione was quite happy with it ON her chest where it belonged. 

Yes.. I was abducted mum.. he was a psychotic, brilliant, dark wizard who killed a lot of people I know.. and was responsible for the deaths of probably thousands more. He persuaded me to kill several people, including, incidentally, you and dad – although now that I see you, I’m not sure what to believe anymore.   
I do know that he was absolutely amazing in bed.. I even liked it a little bit when he tortured me.. In fact – I think I might love him.. in a weird, sick and twisted way.   
Oh...and also.. I accidentally killed him and I really regret it. So much so that I spend half my day dreaming of ways to bring him back.. but I can’t let anyone know about it or they’ll lock me up for the rest of my life in a prison horrible beyond anything you can even conceive of.  
There.. Feel better now you know? I’m so glad I got that off my chest. 

Her mother’s other problem, aside from her continuous attempts to ‘be close’ to Hermione and ‘have a heart to heart’ with her – was her tendency to remain continuously on the verge of emotional meltdown. Hermione loved her to bits but the continuous bursting into tears and clinging to her was getting old.   
She didn’t know what to say to reassure her. It had all been ‘a bit much’ for her to deal with on the first day they’d brought her home and it had gotten progressively worse for her with each successive day that she was trapped in the house with her mother, unable to leave, unable to tell her to go away.   
She needed to be alone.. needed silence.. needed to think about him.  
And her own intolerance for her mother’s pain was making her feel guilty. 

If she was honest with herself - really it was kind of a programming. She knew that she loved her mother to bits because she always had loved her to bits – despite the fact that she couldn’t stand being around her anymore. In actual fact, she had been drifting away from her parents for years before this happened. They couldn’t really understand her and she’d just found less and less comfort in returning home to them as time went by. And that made her feel terrible too. Wishing she could spend the holidays at the Burrow or at Hogwarts made her feel like a failure as a daughter.   
She’d tried hard in the past to persuade herself that she was happy when she was around her parents.. but she simply wasn’t. It felt..oppressive. It was emotionally taxing. There was quite honestly no real basis between them anymore.   
As Voldemort had said, cruelly, - they didn’t understand her. At all. 

After two weeks of having to deal with more ‘face-time’ with her parents than she’d had in the last ten years, not to put too fine a point on it, but both of her parents were driving her barmy. She was almost ready to start pulling her hair out.   
Whatever Harry had done to keep the Aurors and reporters off her back seemed to be working. Not one person from the wizarding world had turned up at the door of her parents respectable little suburban home.   
But that only meant that she was entirely cut off.   
She couldn’t send an owl. She didn’t have a wand anymore since Draco had broken hers and she didn’t know how to apparate anyway. Her parents weren’t connected to the floo network.   
She didn’t even have any money to speak of – so even if she could elude her mother’s hawklike supervision and escape, she couldn’t take a bus, couldn’t get to the leaky cauldron and back to the wizarding world.. where she might..  
Might what?!

She didn’t even know what she would do if she could get back. Getting back seemed to be the end of her mind’s desperate calculation.

Owling Harry when she got there was out of the question. The best he’d be able to do would be to invite her to come and stay with him. No doubt with him and Ginny.. and lord knew probably Ron as well.   
She couldn’t face that!   
Owling Draco was still as horrible an idea as the first time she’d thought of it.   
Seriously. He’d cruciated her for several minutes. He’d broken her wand. Almost six years of her life had been spent with him insulting and humiliating her at every available opportunity. Going, of her own free will, to his ministry impenetrable manor, while unarmed and recently recovered from serious injury, was a bad idea.

She didn’t really know where else she could go though.  
And she needed to go somewhere.  
Somewhere that was not here.   
Somewhere where she didn’t have to alternate between feelings of terrible guilt and responsibility for the pain her parents were in now, and feelings of terrible guilt and responsibility for raising her wand and, without a second thought, killing them both. 

Even if it hadn’t been real.. whatever he’d done to trick her into believing it was true – it had been real for her. She had killed them both. With barely a flinch. 

It was impossible to look at them now without seeing them die. Over and over again. 

She couldn’t stay with them here.   
No matter how much it might hurt them if she left, she just could not stay. She’d go mad. 

But she had no idea what to do now and no one who she might turn to.  
At least... no one who she was willing to turn to.

So when, on the sixteenth day since her parents had brought her home from the hospital, as she was sitting in her room, revelling in the entire half hour that she’d had without her mother coming in and having yet another emotional moment all over her, there was a familiar tap at her bedroom window – she didn’t care who the owl might be from. She’d accept an owl from Ron.. Hell.. she’d accept an owl from Dolores Umbrage at this point. She ran to the window and let it in. 

Her mother burst in only moments later, wild eyed and she was forced to actually tousle with her for the letter she’d just taken from the panicked bird. The owl fluttered skittishly and would have flown away if Hermione hadn’t had the presence of mind to slam the window quickly. Then she turned to subduing Jane Granger who was reacting as if the letter that had arrived, which she had managed to get her hands on, was anthrax tainted and liable to kill them both if not confiscated and destroyed. 

“MOTHER!”

Hermione resorted to the word only in the direst of circumstances, much as with Ron’s full name. 

“Stop being so ridiculous at once! That is my letter. I am of age and you have no right to try to take it from me. Give it back right now!”

Jane Granger promptly burst into tears.

From the emotional wailing and carrying on, Hermione divined that her mother believed that she would end up dead and/or in a gutter if she had anything more to do with the wizarding world – and as there was clearly a brown owl sitting on her dresser looking at them both with intelligent yellow eyes, this letter constituted ‘having something to do with the wizarding world’ and was thus the enemy.

Hermione’s fingers itched for a wand. She actually considered whether incarcerous might not work wandlessly because she really, really wanted to use it on her.

Having no other option, and knowing that if the drama went on until her father came home this evening then the letter would definitely be destroyed, Hermione took a deep breath and went about the wretchedly annoying business of calming her mother down and persuading her to see reason.

If that failed, she had decided that she would brain her with the desklamp. Enough was enough.

 

As it turned out, the letter was not from Harry, Draco, not even from Ron Weasley, Rita Skeeter or Dolores Umbrage. It was from Gringotts. 

Which really made little sense to Hermione. 

Not only that but it was very vague and uninformative. It simply said that she should come in at her earliest convenience and speak with a Goblin named Grovgut regarding several different matters of urgency.

And that really changed very little in her situation since, she’d started out by wanting to get to Diagon Alley and having no means of getting there.. and now she needed to get to Diagon Alley.. still having no means of getting there.

But she had an owl now. 

After persuading her mother that the letter didn’t portend wizards descending upon them suddenly to abduct her, she sat down to pen a letter. She had only two hours until her father would be returning from the practice so she needed to have it done quickly.

And she wasn’t sure who to write to. If she sent it to Harry and Ron intercepted it.. or perhaps even Ginny if Hermione was going to be an absolute cynical realist.. it was possible that it could be destroyed. 

On the other hand.. owling Draco Malfoy for help was in and of itself an unreliable prospect and she only had ONE owl. It wouldn’t come back.

In the end she wrote the letter to Harry, asking for help reaching Gringotts as she had neither wand nor money and her parents were being a bit silly about everything and refusing to let her outside the house.  
She tried to word it neutrally but she had the feeling that it still came out sounding like a plea to be saved. 

Harry liked saving people.

The response came back less than an hour later with a brown owl that she didn’t recognise. In the letter, Harry was effusively apologetic for not realising that she had no way of contacting anyone. He’d thought that her silence was due to the fact that she didn’t want to talk to him. He promised to take her to Gringotts in the morning and asked whether she wanted him to come by that evening and talk to her parents about how they were treating her.

The tone was slightly strange, Hermione thought. She answered that there was no need for him to speak to her parents, she would explain things to them herself tonight before this went on any longer.

 

It did not go well.

 

It in fact went so far from well that she ended up climbing out her bedroom window and running away down the dark suburban street after her father had locked her inside her room to ‘protect’ her.

And that left her, when she’d stopped running, on a different suburban street a mile from her parents house. In the dark. Without any money or means of contacting anyone.   
In other words.. it left her up excrement river without a means of propulsion. 

Stubbornly she walked on even though she knew that she was extremely far from London, where the only floos she knew of were located. It was cold and she wished she’d thought to bring a warmer jacket. She’d been more concerned with getting away without being caught at that moment.

At one point she hid in some bushes when a group of rowdy teenaged boys passed down the street. They were laughing and joking with one another and, although she told herself that they probably wouldn’t have bothered her, the last thing she needed right now was to go from a bad to a worse situation. After they’d moved on, she climbed out and continued on down the road that she knew would lead after another few miles to the motorway. She was wondering whether she might have the courage to hitchhike.   
She didn’t have her wand and the thought of being helpless and getting into an unknown person’s car terrified her.   
Logically, she could tell herself that muggles did it all the time, but it didn’t change the fact that she felt intensely vulnerable out here in the open without her wand. 

Or maybe it wasn’t just the fact that she was without her wand that was giving her the uneasy feeling.

She walked a bit faster. It might be better to be in the car of some muggle than out here on the street where it was so still and silent.

After another couple of minutes, with the hairs standing up on the back of her neck, telling herself that she was being ridiculous, she began to run.

She reached the motorway without any untoward occurrences and found that there was a reasonable intermittent traffic of cars, thankfully. 

A soft chuckle from somewhere behind her made her whirl around, wide eyed, defensively.

There was nothing there. The street was empty.

That didn’t mean anything though, she knew. Whoever it was could be disillusioned; they could be under an invisibility cloak or even using an invisibility potion. There were probably half a dozen other means of rendering a person unable to be seen that she didn’t know about.

She glanced back at the motorway. There was a car coming. Keeping her eyes trained on the dark street, trying to catch the merest flicker of inexplicable movement.. the slightest haze in the air.. a shadow out of place.. she stuck out her thumb.

Several things happened in quick succession then. First the approaching car threw on brakes with a screech, at which point she realised that it was her father’s car and that he was behind the wheel, looking furious. Her gaze, then shifting warily to the dark street, caught a haze of movement in front of her, and she leapt backward from the pale blue incarcerous that was suddenly heading out of nowhere toward her, only to be nearly run over by the Knight bus.  
She had no money..but she scrambled up onto the bus even so and hoped to hell whoever had been following her hadn’t gotten on.

The conductor was a young man with an overabundance of acne. He asked her “where to, miss?” and waited impatiently while she dithered.   
After about ten seconds of idling, during which time her father raced out of his car to the side of the bus and started banging on the door and frantically yelling for her to come out, while she sat stonily, trying to pretend that the commotion had nothing to do with her, the conductor yelled to the driver to drive on and tossed himself down on the bed opposite her.

“Scuse me for saying it, but don’t I know you?” he asked after a couple of minutes of awkward silence, his brow furrowed and eyes narrowed as if trying to work out from where her face was familiar. 

“No.. I’ve just got one of those faces” she told him, making her decision. It had really only been between two places anyway. There was nowhere else for her to go.  
“Can you take me to Grimmauld Place in London, please?” she said firmly. “I don’t have any money on me, but someone there will be able to pay my fare.”

The conductor laughed. “Oh there’s no fares on the Knight bus, Miss. It’s a ministry service now!”   
He looked at her again as if he were trying to place her and then shook his head and got up, returning to the front of the bus to stand next to the driver.

Hermione glanced around nervously, hoping again that whoever had cast upon her hadn’t gotten on with her.   
There was one wizard lying in a bed at the back of the bus under the covers, apparently asleep. Otherwise the cramped space full of beds was empty.   
After a few minutes she decided that she was probably ok and looked out the window, watching the landscape flash by at a speed only attainable by magic.   
A relief settled in her that she hadn’t felt for two weeks. She was going back to the real world. Maybe everything wouldn’t be alright, necessarily, but it was better to be not-alright in the wizarding world than locked in her bedroom in muggle suburbia. 

She experienced a moment of worry when she got out of the bus to find that 12 Grimmauld Place was not visible to her. Obviously they’d gotten a new secret keeper since Professor Dumbledore’s death.   
Uneasily she shifted from foot to foot. Telling herself that she knew that there was a house at 12 Grimmauld place did not make said house appear. 

In the end, not knowing what else to do as there didn’t seem many options, she resorted to yelling out “Harry” once at the top of her lungs. 

Several houses switched on their lights and in 10 Grimmauld place a middle aged woman twitched aside her curtains and peered out at her, but, to her relief, it worked. Harry soon appeared out of nowhere in pajamas with a blue bathrobe, more than a little confused at seeing her there. 

“Mione?! How did you get here? What’s happened?! You look awful! I thought you were going to stay at your parent’s place till tomorrow morning.” 

He seemed to remember himself and stepped up to her quickly, putting an arm around her shoulders and whispering in her ear “Harry Potter lives at 12 Grimmauld Place”  
She flinched away slightly, uncomfortably. His breath on her ear like that felt..strange. She told herself that her stomach hadn’t performed a tiny flip.   
No not at all. It was just awkward. That was all.

Harry dropped his arm from her shoulder, probably not even realising her discomfort, and turned back toward the pavement, where the familiar dark old house was squeezing itself out from between 10 and 14 Grimmauld place in her vision.   
She thought it looked like someone had cleaned the grimy old windows finally. Probably Ginny’s influence she assumed. Harry had never much cared about those things.

He led her up the steps and opened the door for her to enter.   
She smiled uneasily, finding Ginny standing halfway up the stairs in a knee length nightgown that only served to emphasise the gentle bump on her belly. She was wearing a look of concern but Hermione wasn’t sure whether she was concerned for her or about her. She mumbled a soft hi Ginny and followed Harry into the kitchen, where he put on a jug of water and got out some tea. 

Half an hour later, on her second cup of tea, she had just finished explaining to her at-one-time close-friends how she had spent the last sixteen days and just what had happened earlier that evening. Harry was more than a little worried when she told him about someone throwing a spell at her before the knight bus came. 

“You were safe when you were in your parent’s house. The Order put a lot of wards and protections around the property. You shouldn’t have just run away like that, Mione. I would have come in the morning. They wouldn’t have stopped me from getting to you. It was really dangerous for you to go out by yourself – especially without a wand.”

“I know that” she responded agitatedly. “But.. you don’t understand – I had to get away.. I couldn’t stay there anymore..and then he ..he locked me in.. as if I were a prisoner.. Harry.. I know I didn’t think. But I had to leave!”

“Yeah.” He said softly, his eyes on the tabletop as he scratched at a nick on the edge of the table. “Yeah.. I know the feeling.”  
The verdigris eyes slid up and caught her own. He smiled in the weary way she was getting used to from him. “I guess.. I’m just glad that you’re ok. If you stay here.. you’ll be safe. Tomorrow we’ll go to Gringotts and then I’m taking you to get a new wand.”

A sudden frisson of panic shrilled through her. What if her magic had changed so much that she needed a different wandcore?!.. what if she needed a wand with runespoor or..or thestral blood or.. something that only dark witches tended to be able to use. She didn’t want Harry to wonder whether anything had happened to her magic while she was in captivity.  
But she could hardly refuse to go with him. That would be suspicious in and of itself. 

“Thanks Harry” she mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

“Its.. getting a bit late now” Ginny offered quietly. “maybe.. we should go back to bed? Hermione can sleep in the spare room that’s made up for Ron.”

She wasn’t sure whether she’d actually seen the sharp narrowed-eye look that Harry shot Ginny before it was replaced by a more neutral, friendly, expression.   
“Yeah.. You go on up. I’ll join you in a minute.” he said lightly.

Ginny didn’t move. She gave him a long, even, look that Hermione thought held a definite element of challenge in it.   
“I can wait for you” she returned just as lightly.

“Well.. I’m going to make up a room for Hermione on the third floor, Gin, so you might as well head to bed. I don’t think Hermione or Ron would be very comfortable if I put her in his room and he turned up out of the blue.  
...Especially when she’s wandless” he added pointedly.

Ginny’s expression sharpened and she sniffed. “I don’t think I like what you’re saying. Ron is my brother and supposedly your best friend. If you think-“

Harry stood up sharply and picked up the teacups and pot, turning away to the sink.   
“Ginny.. There are almost a dozen bedrooms in this house and it takes exactly two spells to make any one of them up. You were the one who wanted to put Hermione in Ron’s bed. ...Just..go upstairs. I’ll be in soon.”

Hermione tried not to frown at Ginny and kept her eyes fixed neutrally on the woodgrain of the table. After a moment she heard a huff from the redhead and the girl stomped out. She could hear every step she took up the stairs.

“You know..” she said softly “I really think there must be such a thing as a Weasley temper. I’d never seen it before with Ginny..”

Harry snorted, annoyed. “You have no idea, Mione.. God.. Sometimes....” He seemed to bite off his words and growled under his breath in frustration.   
“This was what I wanted.. wasn’t it?! To be with Ginny.. to have a family..”   
He turned around and Hermione saw the sad look on his face again that she’d seen at St Mungo’s.  
“I shouldn’t say this.. especially not to you.. Godric knows she has such a short temper when it comes to anything related to you.. but..I don’t think I really knew Ginny at all until she was on the run with Ron and me and I think.. maybe I saw what I wanted to see, most of the time. By the time the scales started to fall from my eyes, it was already too late.”

Hermione felt a dangerous little shift in the atmosphere of the room. Something in the way he was looking at her. She stood up from the chair quickly, tucking it back under the table and avoiding his gaze.  
“You’re probably just tired, Harry. You’ve been under stress for so long.. and you’re still under stress. This is what you always seemed to want. I’m sure that whatever problems you two are having are just related to hormones with the pregnancy or-“

Harry closed his eyes and tilted his head back as if in exasperation. “yeah. Right. That’ll be all it is. Nevermind then.”  
He walked briskly past her to the door and then hesitated.   
“I’m ..sorry.. Mione. You’re probably right. I’m just..stressed.. or something. Come on. We’ll find you a room on the third floor.” He set off again.

She followed, hurrying into step a couple of paces behind him. He climbed the stairs quickly but slowed and seemed to be paying attention to her. She assumed it was in deference to her recovering health. 

“Ron’s on the first floor.” He told her in a hushed voice as they climbed, gesturing toward the room in question as they passed the landing. “He doesn’t like climbing stairs. Gin and I are on the second floor.”   
When they reached the next level he pointed to the first door which was half open. Hermione spied Ginny sitting up in bed looking more than a little upset. She glared at them both as they continued walking up the next flight of stairs. 

Harry didn’t speak any more as they ascended to the third floor. It was darker up here. Hermione remembered that she had been a little bit scared of coming up to the third floor in Grimmauld place when she was younger. Now she found that she preferred the darker heavier atmosphere. 

Harry led her to the very end of the corridor, the last room on the third floor. The corridor was dark and the room, when he’d opened the door and ushered her in, was pitch black. She stopped just inside the door and fumbled for the light switch, forgetting that in a magical house there wouldn’t be any. Harry stepped in after her, perhaps not realising she’d stopped. For a moment she was overbalancing and about to fall over at the sudden knock from behind and then there was a hand on her abdomen steadying her and a breath beside her ear and she couldn’t stop herself from shuddering in pleasure at the sudden visceral memory of Voldemort behind her in the dark of the dungeons.   
The moment lasted just a fraction too long before Harry removed his hand and stepped back. 

“Sorry..” he whispered guiltily. Candelabras at the far end of the room lit, throwing a soft yellow light around the large room. 

She wondered why he hadn’t done that before following her into the room. 

The room in question was lovely. Or at least.. it was dark..and a bit odd.. and lovely. There were large unusual windows at the far end of the room with pale green triangular panels on top and many irregular thin dark blue vertical panels below. No doubt the room would not get a lot of light in the daytime.   
Beneath the window there was a small antique desk with a green lamp upon it and a wooden chair pushed in beneath it. A bookshelf was set into the wall beside the desk although it held no books.   
In the centre of the left wall, pressed between bedside tables in a dark wood, there was a large four post bed.   
Unlike Voldemort’s bed and the bed’s at Hogwarts, the posts on this bed only reached shoulder height and tapered into spiral carved points. The bed itself was made up in a dark blue silky covering with actual throwpillows. Nothing was dusty.   
The room looked nothing like she remembered rooms in Grimmauld place looking. It was too.. polished.. too new. Everything in here was far too nice. The rooms she’d seen were kind of old and worn and tattered at the edges. Furniture was battered or disturbing. Everything.. absolutely everything.. had been layered in dust or didn’t invite one to touch it. 

“This was going to be our room” Harry explained softly, noticing how she was glancing around curiously. “I prepared it as a surprise.. but Ginny didn’t like the furniture.. and refused to sleep on the third floor. She said it was too dark and creepy. She wanted a view out onto the park.

Hermione snorted wryly. “More fool her then. This room is amazing.”

The bright smile Harry offered suddenly was somehow reminiscent of the boy he’d been when they were still in school.   
“I’m glad you like it, Mione” 

He wandered over to an area of the wall that looked no different to any other and pressed his hand to it. Abruptly it popped out toward them. A door. It was cleverly hidden.

“It’s a wardrobe” he said sheepishly. “I was experimenting with a dimension charm.” He opened it wide to display an empty double wardrobe with three hangers dangling forlorn on the rail.  
She blinked, surprised and unaccountably impressed by the neat little piece of magic. Harry closed the wall again gently. 

“I’ll let you go to bed then. What time do you want to go to Gringotts? Shall I wake you up?” 

She considered it.   
“I don’t really have a time that I need to be there.. I guess.. it doesn’t matter. Whenever its convenient for you.   
Er.. and Ginny of course. I don’t know what you have planned tomorrow.”

She felt guilty suddenly.

“....um...Harry.. Thank you! I’m..sorry that I haven’t thanked you yet. For.. for helping me.. and ..rescuing me”  
The last part she didn’t feel thankful for.. but it had to be said even so.   
“I don’t know what I would have done tonight if not for-“

She found herself suddenly embraced and stiffened automatically. Harry didn’t let her go this time though. He hugged her harder for a moment till she stopped fighting it. 

“You don’t need to thank me, Mione” He said quietly, with his face turned against her hair. “and you never need to think you might be in the way. I’ll always be there when you need me.  
...After all.. you’re my best friend..”   
He pulled back slightly and looked down at her from a few inches away. The expression... he was looking at her strangely again. Like he had in the kitchen.   
She swallowed and extricated herself as politely as she could from his embrace. Her withdrawal didn’t seem to bother him much though. He turned and headed casually for the door. 

“You don’t need to worry here, Mione.” He reassured her quietly. “Not about Ron turning up and coming up here.. or whoever attacked you earlier breaking in. I sleep lightly and the stairs up to the third floor creak. If anyone tries to get up here, I’ll know about it and they’ll regret it.”  
In the dim shadows near the door, his smile became quite a dark smirk. It both suited him and looked entirely alien on his face. Harry didn’t smirk darkly in her experience.   
Uneasily she wished him a good night, and received a goodnight in return, then he had let himself out and closed the door behind him.

She sighed closing her eyes and shaking her head at herself.

Would Draco Malfoy have been so terrible!? She’d been here for maybe an hour and she’d already caused a fight between Harry and Ginny. Harry was behaving very oddly toward her and it would no doubt make the problem with Ginny worse.  
Still.. again.. it wasn’t as if she had an enormous wealth of options. She didn’t have anyone else except her parents or Malfoy to call on for help and no means of her own.   
It would be very difficult to find a job without NEWTs she realised.   
Maybe.. she could still take the exams..  
The thought of going back to Hogwarts to take another year of classes was wretched. She didn’t want to go back there. 

And yet.. it would solve most of her problems. She wouldn’t have to worry about where she lived or how to get by..  
On the other hand.. her parents had always paid her fees and she doubted that they’d be willing to do that now. So Hogwarts was probably out.  
Well.. she still had to do something with her life. 

Musing on the fact that Lord Voldemort had asked her this very question only days ago, she started to peel off her jacket and clothes and get ready for bed.   
By the time she’d pulled down the covers and gotten in, she’d come to the conclusion that she needed to sit her NEWTs to have any choices at all.. Crawling deeper in the large comfortable bed, she determined to find out what was needed to sit her NEWTs externally and whether Harry...and maybe Ron... would be doing the same thing.

Surely Harry couldn’t just do without them if he wanted to be an Auror.

 

 

After breakfast she actually considered whether she might not be better off being tortured in Draco Malfoy’s dungeons than staying with Harry. Even her parent’s house was starting to look less horrendous.

It had actually been nice at first. She’d woken early – it seemed like the smallest natural light in the morning affected her now, and her room, although the windows were stained glass, lacked curtains.   
She’d risen and reluctantly put on the same clothes she’d worn the night before. The bathroom was on the second floor and she hadn’t wanted to risk waking Harry and Ginny. Creeping down the stairs, she had tried to keep to the banister side so as not to creak. 

The kitchen was cold but shortly after she’d entered Kreacher had popped in with a glower and his standard nasty muttering. He’d warmed the room and set a bowl of cereal per her request on the table before vanishing again, leaving her in the quiet restful shadowy room in peace. 

Harry had come in after no more than five minutes, dressed in his pajama bottoms and the blue bathrobe. He’d wished her a good morning brightly and put on tea before opening the window to let in the owl that was waiting with the morning’s Daily Prophet.   
She’d accepted a cup of tea and stared vaguely at the back article of the paper Harry was looking at while he drank his tea and waited for Kreacher to bring him buttered toasted muffins.   
They hadn’t said a word to one another after ‘good morning’ and it felt perfectly wonderful. Relaxed.. pleasant.   
The article on the back of the paper was about a wizard in surrey who’d been caught running a pest removal scam involving intentional infestation with fertility enhanced gnomes. The photo showed a short, portly balding man trying to cover his face with his robes as aurors led him away.

Just as Harry took his first bite of muffin with melting butter, Ginny had walked in wearing a dark green velvet dressing gown with empire waist. If she was ostensibly ‘not up’, it was odd that she’d apparently taken the time to style her hair and apply beauty charms. She had looked...radiant. Hermione wished her a good morning and continued eating her cereal.  
Ginny responded ‘sleep well?’ Her expression suggested that Hermione sleeping well would somehow be a direct act of aggression.

“Yes. Thank you.” She’d answered honestly. 

“Don’t you find the atmosphere up there a little...well.. dark?!” Ginny had asked critically. “I try never to go up there. Sirius and Remus and Professor Dumbledore all commented on the dark magic practically ingrained in the walls on the third floor. Oozing out of the cracks, I think was the way they put it. They said it wouldn’t be healthy to be around. Especially not for the baby.”

Hermione had paused with a spoonful of cereal halfway to her mouth.   
She’d found the atmosphere up there comforting. Homey. She’d felt better in that room than she had anywhere since the day Harry had pulled her out of the cage  
In her peripheral vision the wizard in question had tilted the corner of the paper he was reading and was looking at Ginny scornfully.

“Really?” she had answered lightly. “I thought the room was lovely. I’m not used to so much sunlight yet. As I’m not pregnant, I don’t think the room poses a greater threat to my health than the exposure to dark magic I received over the course of the last year. 

Ginny had looked more than a little put out. “What room did Harry set up for you?” she asked, reaching across the table and taking Harry’s other buttered muffin half. Hermione saw his expression darken at the act which could have come across as affectionate but instead felt possessive, pushy and demonstrative.

Hermione hesitated.   
“The last room at the end of the corridor” 

Then Ginny had gone red and growled at Harry that she wanted to talk to him in private right now.

It was clear that Harry was less than impressed in the way he looked at his fiancé coldly, folded his paper and indicated that she should precede him out of the room.   
He’d paused and placed a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. His soft, embarrassed apology made her feel even worse.

She’d heard them climb the stairs to the second floor and then there had been the furious high pitched yell in fishwife register before the door slammed and the silencing charms cut off whatever Ginny was screaming at Harry. Hermione had only caught the first two words. “What did-“  
Really.. she didn’t want to know. 

It had been bad enough sitting there, her appetite for the cereal gone, knowing that Harry and Ginny were upstairs having a blaring fight again because of her. But the morning could get worse it seemed. She heard the sound of the floo flaring in the sitting room and seconds later, Ron strolled in. “Just stopped by for break-“   
He’d stuttered to a halt when he saw her sitting there and went pale before dark red rose on his face like some kind of comical cartoon.

“Does Ginny know you’re here?!” he growled?! “I bloody knew it.. I knew you’d be after him come hell or high water! Where is he!? I’ll kill him!!”

He’d about turned and raced out of the room roaring for Harry. 

Hermione had pushed her bowl of cereal back and banged her head on the table lightly a couple of times in frustration before dropping it to her folded arms on the tabletop. 

Surely Draco wouldn’t actually torture her. Maybe.. if she had a wand and could defend herself, it might be fine!

Harry had come down by himself eventually, dressed and with a small tight smile. The entire house was silent. Hermione hadn’t asked what had happened but she had the feeling that Harry had just lost his temper.   
It didn’t happen often but when it did, the walls shook, generally. He was prone to spontaneous bursts of wandless magic when he really lost his temper.

“Shall we go?” he’d asked and she hadn’t needed a second prompt to get up and evacuate the house as quickly as politely possible.

 

Harry apparated them both to the entry point of Diagon Alley.   
She supposed that it was obvious that he’d be able to apparate – he was at Hogwarts at the end of sixth year when the apparition exams took place and he’d been on the run for ages. Apparition was a necessary survival skill.  
It bothered her for the first time that she couldn’t do it. It seemed such a small thing but it made her suddenly painfully aware of how much schooling she had missed over the last year. The familiar old anxiety settled in the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t as good as the others. She wouldn’t be good enough. 

“Hermione..” Harry had said uneasily. “You.. have thought about what’s going to happen when people see us walking down Diagon Alley together, right?”

She looked at him and blinked, her mouth an O as the probable commotion unrolled in her imagination.   
“Oh my god. Harry! No! I really hadn’t. I don’t want to be in the prophet. I don’t want to have to face people! Lets.. i’ve changed my mind.. I don’t need to go to Gringotts. It’s not important.. lets go-“

“You need a wand. I’m going to drag you to Ollivander and Mercer’s and then i’m probably going to force you to let me buy you some new clothes. You might as well go to Gringotts while we’re here.”

Hermione shook her head. “I can’t, Harry. I didn’t think about this. Maybe..”

He smiled a wry half grin. “I can’t believe it. You not thinking something through. Look.. it’ll be fine, Mione. You have to go out sometime and I’m with you. I’ll make sure no one hurts you. Trust me.. I just.. wanted to make sure you knew what we were in for in there.”

She started to fumble excuses again but Harry was already tapping the bricks, unmindful of her disarray.  
as the wall started to crumble open, he took her arm and folded it through his own, patting her comfortingly and smiling again.   
“Alright then.. Let’s do this.” he said quietly, and she could see him straighten and flex. He seemed to become somehow indefinably stronger..more confident.. he looked more powerful.  
For just a moment she felt the old twinge of attraction toward him again.

The first gasps rang out after they’d only taken a couple of steps into the Alley. Harry kept them both moving at a brisk pace as she tried not to cringe closer to him in the face of the parting seas of shoppers. People were turning around to exclaim useful things like ‘Merlin! That’s Harry Potter!’ and ‘Isn’t that.. the girl.. his friend – the one who was taken by you know who?!’ They all stared and remarked and in a couple of cases snapped photographs.   
Harry smiled beatifically at them but she could see that his attention was sharp. He scanned the crowds constantly and his wand hand was in the pocket of his robe.

She tried to turn at Gringotts but he moved her swiftly on.

“Ollivander and Mercer’s first” he said in a low murmur designed to thwart the nosy ears in the crowd. A large number of people had started to follow them, hero worship in their eyes, desperate to find out what the wizarding world’s saviour and his rescued friend were doing in Diagon Alley this morning.   
“I want you to be able to protect yourself. Especially after last night.”

She nodded, still trying to ignore the hoards around them, keeping her eye on Harry, because it was just less frightening than facing all the blatantly suspicious and curious faces.

Someone stepped out in front of them, just as Harry glanced at her protectively, checking to see she was ok. A bright white flare blinded her for a moment.

“Miss Granger – Hermione Granger – where have you been for the last year? What did you do while you were with You Know Who?!

Hermione blinked, trying to see more than bluish smears and stumbled as Harry pulled her a bit faster. 

“Skeeter – leave us alone.” Harry growled as he pulled her toward what she could now see was a completely unfamiliar shop that apparently sold wands.

“The wizarding world has a right to know!” Rita insisted as she kept pace with them doggedly, her cameraman bobbling along after her, puffing. “Did you defect to the death eaters, Miss Granger? Is that why your former friend is pulling strings to keep you out of Auror hands?!” 

At that Harry stopped dead and whirled on the spot, drawing his wand and pointing it in Rita Skeeter’s face. It was held an inch away from her eye with a hand that did not waver in the slightest.

“Since you insist, Rita” he snarled. “I’ll give you what you want and then you can leave us alone. When I rescued Hermione she was in a cage. She was beaten and cursed half to death. Doctors at St Mungo’s were horrified by the extent of her injuries. She was abducted in order to harm me. Before I killed him, Voldemort told me that he had ordered Hermione abducted and arranged for Professor Dumbledore to be assassinated because he considered them my two greatest assets. Hermione is the most brilliant witch of her age.. you’ll recall. She suffered for a year..because of me. Because she was my friend and ally and because her mind was a threat to Voldemort.”

Rita seemed shocked but recovered quickly. “Brilliant enough to convince the whole world that she was an innocent victim?! Why didn’t you know who kill her if she was such a threat?!”

Harry looked at her as if she were a scab on a plague carrying rodent.  
“That would have been merciful. Voldemort was anything but merciful - he wanted me to see what he’d done to her. He wanted me to watch her die. Now if I catch you or any of your vultures sniffing around us again today – I promise you that I will hex you and then I will go to the current owner of the daily prophet and ensure that you do not write for them again. Do we have an understanding, Rita?!”

The reporter looked at him warily, as if unsure whether he would follow through. Hermione, feeling the power stream off Harry, was suddenly certain that he would..and hoped Rita Skeeter was not stupid enough to push him right now.  
She looked up at him and for a second he glanced down at her solicitously, exchanging a glance that seemed to reassure him that she was ok. He turned away from Rita Skeeter, pocketing his wand again and withdrew his hand from his pocket, placing it on her arm protectively. The crowd of onlookers parted for them in stunned silence as he walked her the rest of the way to Ollivanders and Mercers.

To her surprise, he didn’t accompany her inside but instead, caught her and leaned in close at the door, quickly bowing his head to hers and whispering, his lips flush against her ear. “You go and take your time. Tell them to charge it to me. No arguments please Hermione. I’ll stay out here and make sure no one tries to get an eyeful.”   
Her breath caught at the sensation.. his lips.. his breath, the arm holding her in place as he pressed her into the alcove of the doorway out of the sight of the spectators. She couldn’t help the pleasant shiver that raced up her spine or the quiver in her stomach. She wished she could help the blush but the best she could do was to avoid his eyes and hurry inside, closing the door after her and taking a deep calming breath.

“Ah Miss Granger....” The voice carried out of the back room of the shop through a narrow arched doorway into a corridor. Hermione recognised it as Mr Ollivander.. although she wondered how he had known she had been the one to enter. “Ten and three quarters vine wood with a dragon heartstring core.. I believe it was..” 

She stepped further into the store, peering into the dark of the arch. 

The sudden presence of a very tall thin man at her side made her jump half a foot in the air.

“Forgive me” the man’s voice was strangely deep. “I am Gomez Mercer – I will assist you today. Mr Ollivander finds it very difficult to navigate the store, due to injuries sustained in the war.”

She had to crane her head right back to look up at the man’s face. He was tall and pale.. sallow even.. and bore a passing resemblance to Frankenstein. “Oh” she managed, a bit put off “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“Miss Granger.. Perhaps you could come back here for a moment. I would very much like to see you before I advise Gomez upon where to begin trialing wands for you.”

The Frankenstein at her side gestured expansively with one arm toward the doorway that was on all sides surrounded by tall walls full of small narrow boxes.

Nervously she stepped forward, her footsteps echoing slightly on the polished wood of the floor.

The corridor was narrow and dark and at the other end, in the room beyond it, she could see a grey stone hewn fireplace with a small orange fire crackling merrily.   
When she stepped out into the back room she found Mr Ollivander in a deep chair by the fire. He looked haggard, she had to admit. His white hair was very thin and he seemed smaller and frailer than he had been the last time she had caught sight of him standing at the doorway of his store, when she had been in Diagon Alley with Harry. His legs were withered and she thought that that was probably what the strange Gomez Mercer had meant when he said that Ollivander could not navigate the store anymore.

“Ah yes. I see. I see.” He said softly, as if observing her. In truth, she didn’t see how. He was clearly blind. The way he turned his head and the milky hue of his eyes said it all. 

“You have changed quite a bit since you first came to me” he commented and she wondered whether she might be wrong about his sight.   
“The death eaters may have taken my legs and eyes, but I can still see the true nature of things, Miss Granger” he observed with a smile reminiscent of Luna lovegood. She felt intensely uncomfortable suddenly. She had the paranoid feeling that Ollivander somehow knew what she’d done.

“Gomez.. begin on the east wall I think. Fifth shelf. Perhaps also under the counter in the left set of shelves if nothing there suits.”

Apparently she was finished here. Ollivander waved her back out to the front of the shop. She stumbled off, glancing back at him. He didn’t turn his head to follow her progress but stared emptily at the fire instead. 

Frankenstein’s long lost cousin was already waiting for her with a wand box open when she returned. She accepted the shiny black wand within and waved it experimentally. It refused to respond.

After she had gone through half the shelf with relatively underwhelming results, Gomez apparently decided that the wands there weren’t right after all. He moved to the countertop and crouched down to remove wands from beneath.   
“Fitting a second wand is always more difficult than the first” he said conversationally. “A witch or wizard’s first wand bonds very closely. It is affected by and in turn affects the bearer’s magical development. Your first wand was a vine.. a wand of great turbulent emotion ..but also of balance. Light and dark in equilibrium. It is a wood of Growth... wielded by one who is motivated by many challenging goals. ...I do not think you will suit a vine wand again.. at least not right now.   
Your former wand had a dragon heartstring core. A core of steadfastness to a purpose – sacrifices of duty and love. Variable. Suited to defensive spells, particularly good at charms but also quite easily twisted to the dark arts. Perhaps Dragon heartstring may still suit you.. although Mr Ollivander doesn’t think so. He is generally right, I have to say. Try this one for size.”

The wand that was offered was long and thin with a crisscrossing pattern carved into it. She accepted it and flicked lightly. Half of the wands on the wall fell down.

“No.. No.. I think not”   
The wand was confiscated from her quickly and another shoved in its place with similar results.

It took another fifteen wands before she found one that levitated the wand box smoothly. It had felt right the moment she’d put her hand on it. There was a short sharp zing that travelled up her arm. She’d pulled it close and knew even before she’d cast that she didn’t want to let go of it again.

“Ah” Gomez nodded, probably recognising the look on her face from hundreds of others upon finding their wand.  
“That will be the one then, I think. Hawthorn and runespoor, eleven and a third inches.”

Hermione looked up in horror. The worst had happened. Runespoor was a core that was popularly known to be suited to dark magic! Harry would find out!!!

The wandmakers new partner seemed to take in her distress and leaned forward slightly. “Miss Granger.. no wand is intrinsically good or bad. It is a tool, nothing more. The wand in your hand is suited to you. It will perform better than all other wands for you at this time. Please do not concern yourself unduly. I shall tell you a little about it and perhaps you might see for yourself whether you think it is suited to you.   
Hawthorn is a powerful wand wood. It is used for many other purposes, most of which are associated with protection. It guards the way. It stands against attack.. but is supple enough to bend when other woods might break. It is the wand of one who has something to defend. The wandcore is Runespoor. In this case it contains the powdered left fang of each of the three heads. It is therefore a balance of planning, dreaming and critique. It is suited to a witch who is intelligent and logical, perhaps just a tad wistful.. one who indulges in dreams of the way things could.. or should.. be. But also.. one who is critical not only of others, but of themselves and the choices they make. One or more of these aspects will generally take the fore at any given time. Runespoor is admittedly extremely good at conveying dark magic.. but not exclusively so, as would be the case had you drawn a basilisk fang wand, for instance. It is not that uncommon a wandcore in fact. You would be surprised, and I could never reveal of course, how many in the magical community use such a core.   
No.. do not let yourself feel concerned about the wand that has chosen you. I am certain that you will need it for whatever fate has set in store for you. Were it not the case, you would have gravitated to a different wand.”  
He smiled and Hermione felt a very small amount better.

Yes. Ok. It suited her she decided.   
It didn’t change the fact that Harry would look at her aghast when he learned what wandcore she’d drawn.  
And she didn’t want to even think about what Ginny might say.

God. If Rita Skeeter found out about this!   
She was suddenly intensely grateful that Harry had remained outside standing guard. Not that he could have known.. but it was a relief now that she knew exactly how screwed she might have been if this had gotten out to the papers.   
Rita had said that Harry had pulled some strings to get the aurors off her back. This would not look good for them if it became known.

She thanked Gomez and asked him whether he could please charge the wand to Harry Potter’s account at Gringotts. He nodded and smiled again, waving her off. 

“Good luck, Miss Granger” Ollivanders voice floated out of the corridor, just as she left.  
She couldn’t help the little voice in her head that added with a chuckle ‘you’ll need it’.

Wand in her jacket pocket and wandbox shrunk and safely stowed in the back pocket of her jeans, she stepped back out to find Harry standing alert guard even after all this time. There was a solid half circle of space in front of the store and the rest of the street was full of gawping spectators who seemed to just be staring at him in awe. 

“You ok, Mione?” he murmured, looking back over his shoulder at her. She smiled reassuringly and stepped to his side, taking his arm without hesitation. 

“Thanks Harry..” she whispered with feeling. “I..”

He shook his head slightly and pulled her closer, stepping out into the empty area in front of the crowd with her. “Gringotts next” he told her. “with any luck they’ll get bored of this and leave by the time we’re finished there”

 

“Hermione Granger to see ..Grovgut..please” she said to the goblin at the raised teller box. He adjusted his glasses, peering at her and pulling a displeased face. 

“Wait over..there. I will call for him” she was informed with an imperiously pointed finger off to the side by a pillar.

The goblin leaned down to another smaller goblin who then hurried off through a small door in the back wall. A slightly larger goblin emerged soon after. He was a vicious looking little man in a dark grey suit with a long pointed nose and strings of black wiry hair hanging intermittently on his predominantly bald pate. He wore tiny perfectly square glasses and looked at her with an appraising stare. This silent assessment deepened when his eye shifted to Harry.   
After a minute he stated with finality “Mr Potter will remain here. I believe Ragnok has some news of relevance to him. Miss Hermione Granger, you must accompany me to a case room to discuss the matters regarding which you were contacted. 

The goblin turned and shuffled off toward the tiny door in the back wall.   
Hermione offered Harry a baffled shrug and waved goodbye, hurrying after the goblin and wondering whether she’d have to get down on her hands and knees to get through the door.   
It seemed she wouldn’t however. The door grew to full size as she approached it and Grovgut closed it after her. 

He led them down several corridors to another small door that grew just as the last had, opening to an office with a desk and several chairs on either side.

“There are procedures” he grumbled as he wobbled around the desk and climbed into a small chair that then rose up to the height of the desk by itself. “I will need blood to confirm your identity. Please place your finger in the finger well” he indicated with a wave toward a small polished brass well in the front corner of the desk. It looked a bit like an ashtray.   
She complied nervously, placing her index finger pad down in the smooth dell of the cup. A sudden pain made her flinch back. It felt like the thing had bitten her! She looked at her finger and found a horizontal cut across the pad.  
“Keep your finger in the well” Grovgut growled in irritation. She replaced it quickly and the small basin begain to fill with her blood. A tingling started up across the pad of her finger and the goblin gestured for her to remove it. She found the cut was healed and watched as a thin white curl of parchment was ejected from the shallow pool of blood. Grovgut reached for it and read it, nodding approvingly.

“very well. I shall proceed.” 

He pulled out a thick ledger and opened it midway through. The language was unfamiliar to her and she waited as he read through it as if refamliarising himself with the information contained within.

“You are here regarding the matter of several inheritances.” He informed her dryly. She furrowed her brows, wondering who exactly would name her in their wills. She had very few relatives aside from her parents and none of them were within the wizarding world.

“You are named in the final will and testaments of the following: Professor Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore, Professor Minerva McGonagall, Professor Severus Snape, Sophocles Ramsgate, William Groats, Remus Lupin and Rubeus Hagrid.”

Hermione’s bewildered frown deepened.   
Not only had she killed or been responsible for the deaths of most of those people but she didn’t even know two of them!


	14. Chapter 14

“There must be some kind of mistake” she started and the goblin looked at her as if she had expectorated on the desk in front of him. His lips pulled back from his pointed little teeth and he barely managed to transform the snarl into a forced smile.

“Gringotts does not..often.. make mistakes Miss Granger. But if you require I will have a full audit performed.”

She paled slightly, feeling an incomprehensible dart of fear. She didn’t know what was going on but she was worried that if too much investigation were launched into anything associated with her right now, something she didn’t want to be found would be. 

“No. I’m sorry. I don’t really think you’ve made a mistake. I’m just ...confused. I don’t know all of those people.”

The goblin sniffed.   
“Well. It is not necessary for a beneficiary to know their benefactors in an inheritance case – although it is unusual in cases of this magnitude. Which of the benefactors are unknown to you?”

...Cases of this magnitude?!   
Her eyes widened.

“Er.. I’d rather not say. What do you mean – magnitude?!”

The goblin looked at her slyly and this time his toothy grin was intentional. “Shall we proceed then?!”

She nodded nervously.

“It is noted that although you are listed as a benefactor on each testament, you are nowhere listed among those to be invited to attend the official will-reading in the three cases where such a gathering was ordered by the client. All benefactors have in fact made additions to the effect that that the inheritance bequeathed to you should either be passed on to another listed benefactor or destroyed in the event of your death. As we at Gringotts require a higher standard of evidence to determine death, than does the wizarding world at large, what was bequeathed to you is still here.  
I shall begin with Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore.”  
He sought a place on the opposite page, tracing down it with a gnarled bony finger. 

“Vault 1665. Listed as one letter and one small box.” The goblin glanced up and smiled fleetingly. “Of course we do not investigate the contents of our clients vaults beyond what is offered as a description. We do therefore advise all those who inherit to be acutely aware of any and all risks associated with touching foreign magical objects. We can provide an assessor and cursebreaker should you feel that any vault or item might present a threat.”

Hermione bit her lip uncertainly. “Um.. I.. I don’t think.. that Professor Dumbledore would want to hurt me” 

“You can reconsider any choices made when you travel down to view the vaults” Grovgut interrupted disinterestedly and turned back to the page.

“Minerva McGonagall – Great vault – this is used when a customer does not require a separate vault for their legacy. Your inheritance is noted as ‘one letter and two books. Severus Snape – Vault 10443 – contents unlisted.” The goblin paused thoughtfully and turned cynical eyes upon her.  
“I would recommend an assessor and cursebreaker for that vault. Two wizards have been killed in the past year while attempting to breach other vaults belonging to this Wizard.”   
He did not pause long enough to take in Hermione’s shocked expression, but returned to the page below.

“Sophocles Ramsgate – Vaults 11833, 11834, 11835 and ..211.”  
The goblin paused and pursed his lips, his dark eyes drifting up to her and narrowing thoughtfully. She shifted uncomfortably on her seat wondering what the problem was.   
He sniffed disdainfully then and continued in the same dry tone.  
“It is noted that you are authorised to gain access to only two of these vaults before the advent of your nineteenth year. The identity parchment has informed me that the date in question will occur in precisely seven months and fourteen days.”

Obviously the identity parchment measured physical age rather than time elapsed since birth, she observed silently. To the wizarding world she was only seventeen.

“Until this time you have full control over only Vault 11835. Precisely one month from the opening of vault 11835 you will gain the key to access vault 11834. A note has been made that a particular assessor has been recommended for use with these vaults. You may choose to accept the recommendation or use the assessor allocated to you by the Ragnok at the head desk.

It was unsettling that so many vaults had been left to her by someone she’d never heard of.   
...Her mind went immediately to the place that it most loved to dwell these days.   
Voldemort.   
Had he perhaps.. 

Well.. Who else could it have been!? 

He must have left her something... Or some things really.   
What would he have left her?!   
A letter?   
A curse??  
Would he want to kill her if he knew she’d survived when he was dead?

Guiltily, she hoped that someone might have left her perhaps just a few galleons. She didn’t need much..but she hated that she was depending upon Harry right now since she didn’t want to risk going back to her parents or accepting Draco’s charming invitation.   
If she just had.. a little money of her own ..she could rent a room somewhere and hurry to gain her NEWTs. Then she would be able to work.   
Surely he would have realised that, if it was from him at all. He’d realised every other thing about the world after his death.   
Course... Voldemort wasn’t ..really..the embodiment of generosity. Slytherins didn’t believe in altruism. 

“The contents of..some... of these vaults are listed here. Vault 211 is described simply as ‘irreplacables’, Vault 11833 contains a sum of galleons which enumerate, as of the most recent accounting charm this morning, twenty three million, two hundred and eighty four thousand and six Galleons.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open. Her mind tried to comprehend what had just been said. 

It couldn’t.

Had she misunderstood the number the goblin had read out?! Or the information about the vault?! Had Grovgut said that the vault was going to be hers?!   
Was this some kind of joke?! 

No.. Goblins had almost no sense of humour and they wouldn’t pander to the sense of humour of others.  
Others like Malfoy..   
He would find it funny as hell to pull the rug out from under her with a joke like this, if he knew how desperate she was.   
The Goblins wouldn’t stand for that kind of stupidity though, she was sure.

There had to be some mistake! She.. It wasn’t possible to inherit that much from a complete stranger, was it?!

Grovgut was still reading and she realised she’d missed half of what he’d just said. 

“p-pardon?!” she sputtered softly.

His mouth turned down and he fixated her over his square glasses. 

“Pay attention please. I do not have the time to repeat myself all day. The contents of vault 11833 have been accumulating since the vault was purchased several months ago. Due to the regularity of the transfers, it might be expected that this will continue – however, as such connections between accounts can, conceivably be reversed – it would be advisable for you to review the associated payments and decide whether you wish to move the contents of the vault to a new, unassociated, vault. Vaults 11834 and 11835, the latter of which you will take possession of today, are contents unlisted vaults.  
William Groats-..” Grovgut continued disinterestedly, without pause. “Vault 11853. Listed as deeds to property. This vault to become accessible to the beneficiary upon the advent of her 19th year. 

She breathed in again, feeling faint. 

Ok. Ok.. This didn’t necessarily change anything right now. Some Sophocles person had left her a wizards ransom in galleons which she could not use yet. It didn’t change the fact that she had no means of subsistence without Harry or her parents. If she could sit NEWTs – the exams would probably cost something too. She needed help and she really hated to ask Harry for it.   
Perhaps the vault she could open right now would contain galleons. Or even a place to live. Surely.. Surely he would have left her something she could use now if he was going to leave anything at all. What was the point of waiting till her birthday?! Voldemort couldn’t have cared less about her age! In which case.. if he hadn’t given them to her now, he meant her not to have them.   
If he hadn’t known about the time she’d spent using the time-turner at Hogwarts, then he, if he was the one to have arranged for the vaults, obviously intended her not to have access to them for longer than a few months – he’d anticipated something closer to two years!

A faint flicker of hope ignited in her heart. 

Perhaps he’d stored something with which she might bring him back. Perhaps that was the reason for the delay!   
He couldn’t be sure that she’d decide to do something that ran so counter to the best interests of the entire wizarding world though.   
Still..she had to admit, she’d give almost anything..to be able to undo what she had done.   
Every day that went by was somehow..empty. The idea that she would never see him again was too awful to dwell upon.   
She’d already thought a lot about making an independent study of methods to resurrect him..If she had some functional means offered to her, she’d find it hard to wait for the months to go by to use it. Maybe that was his intention!   
She hoped that it was. So intent was she upon pleading internally that Voldemort might have considered the possibility of his own death and arranged for a back up plan, that she almost missed Grovgut’s finishing remarks about her final inheritances. Both Remus and Hagrid had left what they’d bequeathed in the great vault as unlisted items. 

Grovgut busied himself with drawing paperwork out of the desk.

“I assume you will want to view the vault’s contents at once. The transfer into your name will complete when you place your mark upon these documents. Then I can call for an assistant to bring you to your vaults. Do you wish to utilise an assessor?”

Her mark turned out to necessitate more blood. The transaction was completed quickly while she was still in a daze over the news she’d heard. She mumbled an agreement to Grovgut’s suggestion that she utilise the assessor recommended by her benefactor Sophocles Ramsgate.. and then she was standing; being ushered out of the room and back out to the main hall.

She walked, like someone in a trance, back out the door. Grovgut was gone before she could even glance around. 

After a moment she spotted Harry leaning against the wall looking pale and shaken.   
He didn’t see her so she wandered over. When she was almost upon him he looked up with haunted eyes. 

“Mione! Are you ok?” he said, shocked. 

She nodded numbly.   
“I have to go and.. and look at some vaults.. Professor Dumbledore... and..” She trailed off 

He grimaced. “I’ve been summoned to the estate readings of ..of Remus and Hagrid”   
He looked like he might shatter at the slightest touch.

“Hagrid.. wasn’t found. I’d hoped.. I’m sorry – I know you told me but i’d hoped it might have been a mistake somehow. I’d hoped he might still be..”

She moved closer and leaned against the wall next to him, feeling like an evil lying murderer  
“I’m sorry, Harry” she mumbled and hoped he never found out what she was sorry for.

Without a word he turned to her and enfolded her in a needy embrace, burying his head in the crook of her neck. She froze at the intimate gesture and became suddenly aware of the feeling of dampness on her throat. Harry was crying.   
A number of people in the large foyer were watching them both.   
Nervously she wrapped her arms around Harry, returning his affection. It was startling just how much broader he was in her arms than he’d been when they’d both been in their sixth year.   
He wasn’t sobbing.. but she could hear very soft gasps coming from him. When he eventually pulled back and looked up, his eyes were bloodshot. He offered her a watery smile and then, without warning, leaned in and pressed a light kiss to her cheek.  
“Thanks.. I.. I missed you, Mione. I don’t know.. You’re the only one I’ve ever been able to..” he stopped, a guilty expression flitting over his face again.  
Flushing slightly, he swallowed and pulled away.  
“Sorry” he mumbled sadly. “I..I’m sorry. I shouldn’t... After the bloody drama this morning and now..” he looked around the room suddenly, worried, taking in all the people either surreptitiously or overtly watching them both.  
“Shit. I..forgot for a moment where we are.. God.. if this ends up in the paper too I’ll never hear the end of it.”

A growling cough from a goblin throat caught her attention and she turned to find herself faced with a small goblin in a dark blue service uniform – the uniform of the assistants that took customers down to the vaults. Behind him stood a tall, slender middle-aged wizard; his long light brown hair tied into a queue. He wore robes in muted greys and blue, blending with the uniform of the Goblin beside him, although where the goblin looked impatient and disinterested, this wizard seemed to be taking in every detail of her person. 

“Um Harry.. I’ve got to go.. I’ll be back soon.. ok?”  
She knew it sounded hollow and saw the way Harry seemed to pull himself together and surreptitiously wipe his face, scowling at the wizard watching them both keenly.

“Yeah. Ok. If you’re sure you don’t need me to come with you” he said, in a tone that made clear that he wanted to come with her.

She didn’t think that would be advisable.

“I...no.. It’s ok. I don’t know how long I’ll need..” she told him, avoiding his eyes.

 

 

“We will stop at the great vault first?” the small goblin asked as he stepped into the cart to take the three of them down into the black depths of Gringots underground system of vaults.

She shrugged, uncaring and then nodded. “Yes. Thanks.”   
She was anxious to know what was in Sophocles Ramsgate’s vault for her, and Professor Dumbledore’s was worrying her, but it was probably best to see what her three former Professors.. her victims...had wanted to give her first.

Stepping into the cart, she overbalanced a little and yanked her arm away when the creepy wizard reached for it to assist her.   
“I’m fine.” She assured him warily. “Please don’t touch me.”

He looked offended and muttered an apology, stepping into the cart after her with the ease of familiarity and seating himself beside her. 

The ride was turbulent, dark and loud, wheels clattering and sounds of banging, roaring and grinding floating up from wide cavernous open areas they passed through at high speed.  
When they stopped at a very large square metallic vault door, the small goblin announced unnecessarily – The great vault. Come with me. Do not wander.  
The door was colossal. It had to stretch at least ten metres high and was almost the same distance across. What would require a door of that size, she wondered.

To her surprise the wizard who sat next to her, stepped out first.

“Will you require assessment of any of the items for curses or threatening magic? Or possibly valuation?” he asked with polite reserve, apparently taking care with her now after the awkward moment before.

She hadn’t the slightest idea. None of her former Professors would try to hurt her though, of that she was almost certain.   
“I don’t think so. Thank you, though.” She responded and hurried past the man to where the little goblin had thrust a peculiar many pronged key into a slot on the door. After he’d turned it, he dragged it along the surface of the door – the slot moving through the surface like a leaf floating upon water – and then made a complex zagging motion with it.   
A smaller door floated up out of the surface of the metal then, and this the goblin pulled open with some minor difficulty, raising a hand to halt her and stepping through before her. 

After she’d followed him inside, and taken in the impossibly large space within, the endless shelves rising into the dark and receding into the distance, containing innumerable cages of items in storage, their contents obscured behind opacity charms, she understood a little better what the goblins meant when they called the vault great. 

Her guide summoned a small wheeled cart from a bay at the side and indicated that she should get in. He climbed in after her and soon after they were off again at high speed down the third of the eight wide aisles. The trip took several minutes, while the segmented shelves on either side blurred past them. Finally the goblin brought them to a halt and then she shrieked in fright as the cart suddenly rose upward at speed until they were swaying pendulously somewhere close to thirty feet in the air. The small grumpy looking creature in front of her climbed with difficulty onto the edge of the cart and reached toward the caged area on the right side aisle.   
At his gesture, a narrow platform extended itself from the cage until it bumped gently against the side of the precariously balanced box. Hermione was clinging to the sides of said cart in terror as it bobbled back and forth from the minor knock. She really no longer cared what Professor McGonagall, Remus or Hagrid had left her and just wanted to go back down now!

“This way” the goblin prompted impatiently. He already had the cage door opened and she saw that within there was a table with objects upon it. Whatever charm there was upon the caged areas obscured the objects beyond recognition. 

Damn it.

Now she was curious.

She looked down over the edge of the cart and saw the wheels and axle frame of the cart far, far below with a hinged zigzag of metal stretching between herself and the distant ground. She gulped and looked away, resolving not to look down again.

The little platform felt horribly unstable too when she finally succeeded in almost throwing herself out of the cart onto it. She scrambled up it into the cage and huddled on the floor, shaking and trying to ignore the scorn of the goblin.

“These items have been placed together for ease of collection. They are normally located within different aisles. Please decide what you will be doing with them. As their former owners are no longer paying to store the items here, if you want them to stay in the great vault, you will pay the rent for the storage cages.”

Hermione assured him quickly that she’d take them with her.   
She couldn’t afford the alternative even if she had wanted to.

The table was just slightly too tall for her to see from the floor. Climbing to her feet, she moved closer.

There were label tags upon the table. There was a rough grey rounded stone, perhaps the size of both of her closed fists. It looked a little like granite and sat behind a tag labelled Rubeus Hagrid. Hermione tilted her head wondering what possessed Hagrid to give her a stone. Was there some meaning? Was it perhaps not a stone? An egg of some kind? Maybe there was something inside it. There must be some purpose to it somehow! 

Next to Hagrid’s tag was a tag for Minerva McGonagall accompanied by an envelope and two books. One was thick and looked rather like a textbook. The other was slim and pale yellow tanned leather.   
Remus Lupin’s tag sat below a small leather pouch and a thin envelope.  
She looked at the letters left to her by Professor McGonagall and Remus and considered reading them. But it felt wrong. The grumpy looking little goblin was watching her and she was standing in a cage for merlin’s sake. No. She would read them when she returned to her room at Harry’s place. She wanted to be alone for it.

Feeling a little hypocritical she cast a charm to detect basic offensive magic. The only object among the collection which glowed was the yellow leather book Professor McGonagall had given her. Levitating it carefully to the side she learned that the other book, the one that looked like a textbook actually was a textbook. A very old fashioned looking textbook. It was yellowed. Its title proclaimed in optimistic lettering “The inner animal: Understanding the animagus transformation”  
She was halfway down page two before she knew it and it was with reluctance that she sighed and closed the book.

Upon inspection, the small leather bag that Remus had left her appeared to be full of teeth. Large pointed ones. Despite the goblin standing watching her she reached for Remus’ letter and tore it open. 

Dear Hermione, it read.

If you are reading this, then I have not survived to see you once again. I regret it, however i suppose that in the grand scheme of things it doesn’t matter so very much. If you are reading this then all of my hopes have come to pass. Harry has prevailed and you have survived. That is enough to warm my heart as I sit in this cold room.  
Had I been able to locate where you were being held, I would have fought harder to force the order to attempt your rescue. Severus has convinced everyone that you are no longer among the living. Perhaps he did it to protect Harry but I could smell his deceit. Hence why I am writing to you now, in the hopes that you might still live when all of the chess pieces have fallen. 

I want to believe that Harry has reached you before the worst has come to pass.   
I would prefer to indulge the pleasant fantasy that you have returned unharmed and as the girl I remember with such fondness. You were truly astounding, Hermione. So bright that it hurt to look at you at times.  
No matter what may have occurred while you were in captivity, know, Hermione, that the opinions of strangers are irrelevant. The thoughts of friends and family matter.. but not so very much as what you yourself think and feel.   
In the end, no one will ever understand completely. 

Whatever has happened to you – Please - do not let it be the thing that defines you. Do not let the small people, who had no stake in the final events, beat you down and punish you for what has been done to you against your will.  
I don’t think I was a particularly good teacher but if I have taught you anything, let it be this. You must endure. You cannot give up.

My gift to you is the only thing I can give you - something I hope that you will never need. Something I myself have often wished I did not have.. but, equally, have found myself grateful for more often than I can remember.  
I wish to give you the choice that I did not have.  
If things go as I fear they could in the aftermath; many will seek to make a target of you. If even those you believed would be there for you are not and you feel entirely lost...or worse.. if they try to imprison you again for whatever they find offensive in your survival – I can offer you another world.   
It is not as full of possibilities as the one that you once had, before a mad wizard stole you away, but it can be a good life. It can be a fulfilling life, if you allow it to be.   
There is something...comforting... in the secure knowledge that you belong. That you are part of something – accepted as you are, without provisos or conditions.

If you find that you do not want to go on in the wizarding world, put on the necklace that I have enclosed. The third fang from the left is a portkey and activates on the word ‘nova’. It will take you to a large forest which is located upon privately owned land and has been declared sanctuary for magical creatures in perpetua.   
You should be within the territory of a werewolf pack that I know well..   
If you show the pack leader the necklace and ask to join them, you will be turned and invited to join their pack.   
It is a very different way of living, however the pack is very inclusive – they are composed of wizards, witches, muggles and born weres. They will understand your confusion and take the time to explain whatever you wish to know. No one there has ever supported Voldemort and you will be in no danger of attack by rogue death eaters or the ministry of magic.   
..They will protect you. 

I am not encouraging you to give up on the wizarding world, but...it is somewhere you might go and be happy..cherished.. if you feel you have nowhere else to turn.

I wish you all the very best for your life, Hermione. 

In friendship and love,

Remus Lupin

 

Hermione felt a lump in her throat. It hurt. She swallowed and wished earnestly that she had waited to read Remus letter until she was somewhere at home, by herself. His face.. the way he had looked at her before she’d killed him.. His death had been so awful.. and he’d offered her this..   
She was going to cry any second and she didn’t want to do it in front of the impatient little goblin.

“Excuse me” she addressed the goblin with a tight high voice that was straining not to break. “Would you have a bag.. or something. A box – anything I could put these in?” 

The goblin rolled its eyes. It was a snide little creature, she thought. 

“Of course” it said dully. “Standard or secured? Secured transport cases will be charged to the client’s account”

“Standard” she replied and took a very deep calming breath, closing her eyes and trying to pull herself together again. “- But please do not put the yellow book with the other things. I need to ask the assessing wizard about it. I’ll levitate it for the moment”

 

The assessing wizard, who belatedly introduced himself as Hester Groom, couldn’t help her. Or rather he could help her but couldn’t enable her to read the book safely – he identified the offensive spells as defensive spells which would act offensively against anyone attempting to open the book without some passcode, charm or key intended to enable access. He had no thoughts on what the key might be but Hermione privately hoped that Professor McGonagall’s letter would shed some light on the matter when she had a chance to read it in private later.

The book was now safely stored with the other objects, inside a miniscule bag similar to the kind typically used in muggle high end jewellery stores. Mr Groom had been quite certain that it posed no danger, provided no attempt was made to open it.   
She was satisfied enough with the advice for the moment due to a transitive logic that she knew was based upon faulty premises. namely – That she was assuming that Sophocles Ramsgate was in some way associated with Voldemort. Sophocles Ramsgate had recommended Hester Groom as an assessor. Ergo – Voldemort had recommended him. 

The problem was – she had no concrete reason to believe that the two were associated and knew for a fact that Voldemort had not hesitated to harm her when he was alive. She had no basis for presuming that anyone was trustworthy simply because she believed them to be associated with him. In fact most of the wizards and witches associated with him had been highly UNtrustworthy. 

They were currently rattling and clattering their way down to Dumbledore’s vault and she was feeling quite morose.   
It seemed that the area they were travelling through was occupied by few very large vaults. Some of them had huge ornate doors that flashed past, leaving only a vague impression of their decorative surfaces. She thought she saw one with a Hogwarts crest.. but they were moving too quickly and the lighting was not ideal. When they finally clattered to a halt with a squeal of metal against metal as the goblin applied brakes, it was in front of a very large round door, much like a bank vault. The outer rim of the bronzy coloured metal was traced in a language she didn’t recognise but which looked a little like cuniform runes, she thought. 

“Vault 1665” the goblin growled.  
“Blood is needed to unlock the vault.”

Hermione cursed silently. Bloody goblins. They were worse than vampires!   
She clambered out of the cart ungracefully and marched to the vault door.   
“Anywhere specific on the door?!” she asked.

“no.” came the succinct, irritable answer from the little goblin.

A tiny bead of blood was drawn from her finger by the new wand, that she was not above recognising was performing far more smoothly and comfortably than her old wand. She levitated the small globe to the bronze coloured surface, which absorbed it at once.

There was a long pause, and then a complex series of clicks echoed in the tunnel around them. The huge door began to open silently, moving ponderously toward her. She moved out of its path carefully, stepping to the side and peering into the room revealed within.   
It was a massive room.  
And also entirely empty, with the exception of a small box, about the size of a shoebox with a letter resting atop it. She moved to the door and lifted her leg to step over the round lip of the portal when she was roughly dragged backward, losing her footing in the process  
“Stop!” Hester Groom’s voice rang out sharply. The assessing wizard had hauled her back by the scruff of the neck and was holding her by the arm now. 

She struggled, panicking, her eyes flying to his in furious shock.   
“What are you doing?!” she demanded, reaching for her wand to defend herself

“The vault is warded. Had you entered, we would be cleaning you from the walls”

She gaped and deflated slightly  
“oh. Oh.. well then.. thank you. I’m ...sorry.. for..” she trailed off.   
i’m sorry for the really nasty spell I was just about to use on you, her mind finished.  
“Um.. Could you let go of my arm now. I’m not going to go in there, obviously.”

Groom released her arm at once and stepped back. “Excuse me. It was just imperative I prevent you from entering. ...the vault is warded specifically against dark magic. As you ..bear traces of it.. you will be perceived as a threat by the ward and destroyed.”

She grit her teeth. At least he hadn’t said – tainted. There was a tendency for the word tainted or corrupted to creep in when people mentioned dark magic.   
“I have been in the presence of dark wizards for a while” she explained unnecessarily, questioning why the opinion of Hester Groom was of any relevance to her at all.

The man shifted his weight slightly. “The spell is selective. It does not target those exposed to dark magic. Only those who have themselves used it.” His dark grey eyes observed her keenly. 

Hermione turned away, trying not to panic. The assessor and the goblin knew that she’d used dark magic. They knew! What if they told someone?!   
Gringotts was discreet though! That was one of the main lures of their business. They were discreet and neutral. They served light and dark wizards alike. 

She raised her wand and tried to summon the box in the vault. It remained resolutely where it lay in the middle of the vast empty room.

“It cannot be summoned” Groom stated superfluously. “You will not be able to charm any inanimate object to drag or pull the contents to the door. The spell is designed to prevent dark witches and wizards from reaching whatever is within. You will have to find a witch or wizard innocent of all dark traces and persuade them to retrieve your property. The imperius will be insufficient. Your control over any witch or wizard will vanish as soon as they are within the confines of the ward. It is quite an interesting creation actually. 

“I wouldn’t imperius someone!” she countered, scandalised. The way he’d said it – as if it were simply another tool. As if it were a tool of first resource! 

“Of course not..” Groom returned smoothly. “it was just an observation. However.. if you wish, I will write down a dark detection spell for you, in order for you to determine whether a possible candidate is suitable. It would be a waste of all of our time for you to bring someone down here unnecessarily.”

Still feeling quite defensive she responded “Thank you. Perhaps you could simply show it to me. I don’t need it written down.”

He did so. There were no visible effects. She said as much a moment later and he suggested she try the spell herself.   
When she did, she noticed a faint yellow fringe glowing around the goblin, a larger yellow fringe around her own hand and the largest.. almost a mane emanating from Hester Groom himself. 

He was a dark wizard. Clearly. 

Steeling herself not to show any sign of concern she met his gaze silently. While the thick trace of dark magic was a notch in support of his being recommended by Voldemort and not just some unknown wizard called Sophocles Ramsgate, it was also very odd. If there was this spell, and surely the aurors had spells like it, then why wasn’t he arrested?! Why wasn’t he in Azkaban. Dark magic had been criminalised decades ago. Even the books were illegal and carried heavy sentences. 

“Do you want to move on to the next vault, Miss Granger?” the goblin piped up disinterestedly. She looked at it and blinked as if waking from a dream. 

“Yes.. yes.. thanks.” 

 

The cart travelled for a lot longer this time before the goblin halted it and stated “Vault 10443”. She was a little distracted by the revelation about her assessor and the newly sprung worry that if she could detect dark magic use then surely everyone else could too – what would she do when Harry found out?! Or the auror department?!.. or the daily prophet?!   
“um.. who was the former owner of this vault please?” she asked absently.

“Vault 10443 was last owned by Severus Snape” the goblin informed her, passing her a heavy black iron key.

Mr Groom immediately sprang to his feet and preceded her to the vault door. “If you are agreeable, I would like to enter first” he said quickly. “I know of this wizard. He was very skilled in the creation of dark spells and curses. It is possible that the room will be trapped.

She nodded tensely and handed Mr Groom the key.

He was inside for mere seconds, in plain view, before he called her.   
Around him, the vault was, much like Professor Dumbledore’s, largely empty. In the centre of the room, upon a desk that seemed faintly familiar to her, lay a rectangular box that seemed hewn from stone. A note lay upon it in the prickly thin writing of her Professor. “Miss Granger. The box is for my godson. You will deliver it personally. S.S”

A short way away from the box, another note lay on the desk. It read “I wish you to keep this desk and make use of it. It has been in the Prince family for generations and is quite fragile, therefore you are not to shrink or otherwise molest it. Gringotts will ensure safe delivery to the destination of your choice. I have made provision for delivery costs not exceeding the borders of the British Isles. S.S.

She raised her eyebrow and stepped back to take in the full measure of the desk. It was black wood, beautifully turned and carved. A number of small drawers bore silver ring handles and it stood upon black orb feet. It was slightly angled to ease writing and contained wells for ink and quills. It was quite a lovely desk.   
She wasn’t happy about the ‘do not use magic on my extraordinarily precious desk’ but it was understandable. 

She had nowhere to put the desk though. 

Harry’s room already contained a desk and not only would it not fit inside her room at her parents’ house, but she was also fairly sure that her parents would call the police and/or mental health professionals and attempt to actually restrain her forcibly there if she went back there now.  
In the back of her mind she felt quite guilty about them. No doubt they were beside themselves with worry again. As if she’d disappeared all over again.   
But it was the back of her mind. Knowing that they were in distress didn’t motivate her enough to risk her freedom to return there.   
They meant well but they had no idea what was best for anyone, least of all her.

The stone block refused to be shrunk to go into the bag with the other things from Professor McGonagall. It did however allow levitation, therefore she placed a strong floating charm upon it and transfigured Professor Snape’s note into a long piece of string, dragging the stone block after her like a balloon. 

Mr Groom smiled uneasily at her.

She revised her impression of him slightly. She had thought him to be middle aged before. Perhaps that was a bit hasty however. He reminded her a bit of Professor Snape. He looked..prematurely aged. As if heavy matters had weighed upon him and carved deep lines into his face.

“One left” he said softly as he gestured for her to precede him out of the vault.

As they travelled deeper into the depths of Gringotts, she was informed by the Goblin that Professor Snape’s vault was not an owned family vault but was temporarily rented and would require money if she wanted to store the inconvenient desk there.   
She grumbled inwardly, sorely hoping that the vault that Sophocles Ramsgate had allowed her access to immediately would contain some galleons.   
Otherwise..  
Well.. She’d have to ask Harry whether she could store Professor Snape’s desk at Grimmauld place for the moment. Until she could get herself back on her feet.

She was more than concerned about just how she was going to be able to do that without any money. Perhaps she could..take out a loan.. or something. Just to pay for rent and the cost of sitting her NEWTs. After that.. she’d be fine. Surely!

She’d think about what to do next when she got that far. 

 

The cart rattled to a standstill in front of a rather uninteresting black vault door. It was round and it reminded her, more than anything, of the metallic hue of cauldrons. She followed Mr Groom with all anticipation churning within her. 

Her mind was conjuring alternatives for what a vault potentially bequeathed by Voldemort might contain.

He was so brilliant.. but she was certain that not even he could escape post-mortem beheading to secret himself in a gringotts vault for her to find.   
Nor would he, unless he wished to kill her slowly in revenge.   
The idea was beyond implausible and yet she couldn’t deny that some tiny sick little part of her wished it were true. Even if he were going to kill her finally – which she felt she probably deserved – it would be so good to just..see him again. 

Days.. weeks.. months.. spent watching just one person and now he was gone completely. She wondered what they’d done with his body. 

In time she wouldn’t be able to remember the details of what he looked like anymore.   
It was inevitable, as much as she might wish to pretend to herself she’d never forget anything about him, good or bad. She’d lose that feeling. The feeling when he was pleased with her and decided to reward her. She’d forget what it had felt like to be allowed to explore him in ways no other was granted. 

The vault required blood and a moment after she had placed it on the metal, it sank into the surface and she felt a strange shivery coldness ripple down her. It was some kind of sensing spell. The result was acceptable, evidently. She held her breath as slow echoing clanks sounded; the bolts drawing back inside the door.   
It swung open smoothly and Groom followed behind her at a discreet three pace distance.

She was confused and disappointed. 

There was no Dark Lord standing smirking in the shadows.   
That wasn’t really a surprise, it had only been wishful thinking.

There were no piles of galleons.  
Although she felt guilty for wishing for something so meaningless – it was very meaningful in her current position. She worried what she would do now. Without money she would be forced to ask Harry to help her.  
Or Draco.  
But that was a sickening prospect and not worth considering.  
Harry would loan her enough to get by till she had her NEWTs... surely... It would be horrible to ask him, but he wouldn’t turn her away...

There was no Voldemort and no money in the vault.  
What there was, was an old charred wooden door with a silver handle. There wasn’t even a note.

She strode over to it. There had to be more to it! Voldemort.. or..whatever – some random wizard named Sophocles Ramsgate wouldn’t give her an old door unless there was a magical purpose to it.  
None of the detection spells she knew to cast found anything special about the door though. It seemed to be a mundane muggle door, if a bit old and damaged.

“Mr Groom..” she said, confused and upset “what is it?! Why would someone give me this?!”   
She realised that she was pleading with him to find some explanation that allowed the door to be both meaningful and gifted by Voldemort. 

He didn’t oblige. 

After casting considerably more charms than she knew to cast, he informed her softly that it was simply a door and that perhaps the meaning would come later. 

She nodded mutely, trying again not to cry.   
Not even a letter.

Perhaps it was a message. It was a ruined door. Perhaps it symbolised a way that she’d destroyed. A burnt bridge.. a door that could no longer be taken. A lost opportunity.  
It was a stretch.  
And she didn’t want to believe that.

Another of Sophocles Ramsgate’s vaults would be accessible to her in a month. Perhaps that would throw light upon this old door. Maybe she needed it for something in that vault?

The door was easily resized to the dimensions of a domino and placed into her bag of mysterious inheritances.

She was moving to leave the vault when Groom halted her with..yet another unwanted touch. She pulled her wrist from his grip and gave him a pointedly annoyed look. 

If she had been expecting to see something like sheepishness, she was to be disappointed. He was bold as brass when he stated that he would not reveal her use of dark magic provided she saw fit to provide him with certain...agreements.

Blackmail was not something she had confronted often..  
She chose to see the little agreements that Voldemort had made with her as ‘negotiations’ and/or tests. Not blackmail.   
Blackmail was just tawdry and low.   
But then.. it would be a simple thing for aurors to arrest her when a gringotts assessor informed them anonymously that she was guilty of using dark magic.

“What exactly do you want then?!” she hissed.

Groom smiled fleetingly before hardening once more. “Not much. A favour. To be called up whenever and in whichever manner I choose.”

She thought of the various horrible possibilities and reacted without thinking. Voldemort had rewarded her most when she cast quickly and silently. She hadn’t used this curse before, although she’d seen it performed by Moody just minutes before he showed them the Killing Curse. 

Although she was sure she had cast the imperius correctly, Groom shrugged it off with barely a shiver. His smile returned and broadened into something that was at once dark and pleased. 

“Ah. I thought you’d never use the imperius?” he said calmly. “Well.. you’d best not use that curse anywhere outside of these walls.. and I’d advise against using it on any witch or wizard you know has had more than a passing brush with dark magic. You are just learning.. You do not yet know any of the many ways that a dark wizard can turn that curse back upon you.   
Alright. No favour. Will you agree to allow me to be present while you open the other vaults?” He looked calculating.

“I’ll think about it” she responded slowly. “I’ll let you know on the day.”

His smile warmed further.   
“You are thinking that I will not be able to use your dark taint against you if I want the chance of seeing the inside of the vaults.. but I would not have used it against you to begin with. I was left with very clear instructions to assist you, Miss Granger. Call it an odd fancy, but I simply wanted to know how you might react to such a threat.”

She snapped her jaw closed from the annoyed and simultaneously relieved little O she had been displaying.   
Groom was.. perhaps...probably.. an ally.   
Ergo the vault was ..probably.. arranged by Voldemort??

No. erroneous logic again.

“Now, pay attention. I will show you the best spell to hide the detectable evidence that you have been practicing dark magic. It must be cast upon waking, as it will fall while you sleep – so take care in whose company you let down your guard enough to rest. Occasionally, after very large dark workings, it may leak slightly, therefore it is best to recast it after such events. You can choose to lower it, much as I did when you were using the dark detection spell for the first time, however I must emphatically advise you never to do so unless you are absolutely certain that no threat exists in your environment. The fact that you do not see anyone does not mean that enemy eyes are not watching. Take care and maintain the spell.

Hermione paid attention.

 

 

Harry was more than mildly miffed when she got back up to the lobby and found that she’d been down in the depths of Gringotts for three hours. 

“What took you so long?!” he asked, barely softening the demand in his voice. “And what is that?!” he indicated the floating stone block she held like a balloon. She caught a brief flicker of suspicion in his eyes but it was gone again before she could be sure she’d seen it.

“She ignored the second question in favour of the first. “I had to visit several vaults” she said tiredly. “Look, I’m really sorry for taking so long. I didn’t know I would and I wasn’t aware I was, while I was down there. Can we talk about everything somewhere that isn’t crawling with nosy bystanders?”

Harry nodded once, seeing the sense in her question at once. His eye scanned the room, taking in the many curious witches and wizards surreptitiously or overtly paying attention to them.

“Madam Malkins and then home?” he asked softly. She flushed, embarrassed and shook her head.

“is it because of the crowds or because you’re worried about letting me pay?” he asked, moving a little closer so that he wouldn’t be overheard.

She bit her lip and responded honestly  
“Both..”

The gentle smile that dawned on his face was lovely. He was beautiful at the best of times, but when he looked like that, she couldn’t help sighing inwardly.   
‘not mine, not mine. Not ever mine. Bad bad bad! You don’t find him attractive in the slightest!’ she chastised herself.

“Mione.. I’ve already told you that I want to buy you robes. Look.. Ginny and Ron shop on my account all the time...and there’s so much in there that they could shop all year and not make a dent. But I don’t care if they spend money...whereas, I really want to buy you clothes. I can’t do much about the stupid crowds, but trust me – they’ve been worse before. If you’ll come and let Madam Malkin measure you then I promise we don’t have to stay and try on robes. We’ll just give her some idea of colours and styles and leave. OK?”

“Harry!! You are not paying for tailor made-“

“Only if you don’t want to try on robes.. Hermione.. you can’t walk around in the same set of muggle clothes perpetually. If you scourgify them enough, they’ll fall apart on your body.”  
He smothered a very un-Harry-like smirk behind his hand. “Not that that would be.. a bad thing..necessarily” he said under his breath.   
She turned bright pink. Had Harry just insinuated he’d like to see her naked?!   
Realising she was sputtering in an undignified manner, she pulled herself together.

“One robe then” she conceded.

“You’ll need at least seven. Plus a few other things. Shoes. Underwear. Unless you were planning on..”

“Alright” she interrupted, unable to stop the fierce heat in her cheeks. Harry was flirting with her. She was almost sure of it. What the hell?!   
This was not a good thing!

Harry just smiled contentedly and offered her his arm.


	15. Chapter 15

She ended up with ten robes, complete with matching underrobes and shoes. That was not all however. Harry had pressed a handful of dresses into her hand as she came out of the changing room and sent her back in to try them on.   
Staring at herself in the mirror as she wore the pretty pale emerald crushed silk sheath, she was suddenly transported in her mind back to the cage and the endless parade of lovely dresses and perfect hair. This dress could have easily been among those she was clothed in. It was just his taste.. assuming that the dresses the elves clothed her in were chosen according to Voldemort’s taste at all and not purely at random. 

When she came out, Harry had stared, wide eyed, transfixed, until he seemed to shake himself and then his expression turned faintly sorrowful although he smiled and told her she looked nice.

He bought all the dresses and two more besides which she hadn’t even tried on. One was silver and sleek and the other a burnt chocolate hue which shimmered in umbra.

She was hanging them in the wardrobe in the room that Harry had initially created for Ginny and himself, wondering about taking a shower and changing into clean clothing, when Ginny bounced in without knocking, simply glowing with the radiant sheen of happy pregnancy.  
The redhead stopped dead a few steps in and her smile faded as lines of consternation appeared on her brow. She smiled again after a few seconds but it seemed forced.

“Oh.. Did you stop by your parent’s place and pick up some clothes?” she asked, all innocence and friendliness.

Hermione sighed and looked back into the wardrobe, selecting a plain black robe with a faint pattern embossed into it of fleur de lis. “No.. I..I don’t think I can go back there just yet. They are very upset. If I go back now they’ll do something stupid to try to stop me from returning to the wizarding world. They don’t understand that I can’t just stop being a witch – that I don’t want to just stop being a witch. I think, right now, they’d actually try to have me locked up just to keep me where they could reach me.”

Ginny made sympathetic sounds and empty reassurances that it would all sort itself out. They’d understand if she sat down and talked with them about it. Hermione ignored the obvious subtext, pulling out fresh underwear from the pile of identical chameleon sets in a no nonsense style. When she tossed them on top of the black robe on the bed the underwear immediately coloured itself in the same black patterned hue and appeared to vanish from sight.   
It was obvious that Ginny was politely insinuating that she should sort it out with her parents sooner rather than later.

“If you didn’t pick the clothes up from home.. did you go shopping this afternoon?” she asked unsubtly.

Hermione nodded wearily, already anticipating the irrational snit looming up ahead.

Ginny frowned disingenuously.   
“But if you can afford to buy this many new sets of robes.. Surely you might be more comfortable if you looked for an apartment where you could have your freedom”

Her freedom?  
Because she did not have it here??! Hermione shook her head slightly at the blatant tossing down of the gauntlet.

“I didn’t buy the robes, Ginny.” She said lightly. “Harry did. I tried to persuade him not to.”

Ginny had pinked and Hermione doubted that it was embarrassment that was reddening her cheeks. She had just gotten Harry into trouble with his fiancé again.

“Oh.” Ginny said clumsily. “Oh yes well.. he’s very generous like that. If you’ll excuse me..” 

She didn’t excuse her but it didn’t matter much. The banshee left quickly and the sound of her thundering down the stairs made Hermione wince. No doubt there would be screaming soon unless Harry was somewhere behind a silencing charm.  
Something in the little encounter had penetrated her mind however – Ginny would think nothing whatsoever of coming in here without asking, whether she was here or not. Anything she might leave in this room would be subject to her nosy exploration. She needed to work on warding her things and fast. 

For the moment, she expediently placed the objects she’d brought back from Gringotts in the wardrobe with the robes, cast a strong warding charm around the inside of the wardrobe and closed the door, placing a notice-me-not on the area of wall behind which it was hidden.   
That would do for the moment.

She picked up the robes and underwear and headed carefully down to the second floor, trying not to squeak on the stairs. The bathroom was further down this corridor, she knew. 

 

 

She returned to her room after the shower, dressed in the black robes, to find Harry seemingly napping on her bed. He lay on his back, one arm tossed across the bed and the other resting on the pillow beside his head.

Raising an eyebrow she glanced down the hallway, listening for any sounds of Ginny, and then quietly closed the door. 

Harry didn’t stir as she crept closer to the bed. He was breathing slowly and looked exhausted. She smiled, noting again just how much his face had changed over the time in which she hadn’t seen him. His jaw was prominent, he looked harder. No longer the sweet boy. 

“Lie down with me Mione” he murmured sleepily while she watched. She startled slightly, having thought him unaware of her looking down at him.   
“Just need forty winks and then we’ll talk”

She considered it.. for a microsecond.

“I don’t think that would be a very good idea, Harry” she said reasonably and walked around the bed, sitting down on the end of the other side.

Harry frowned slightly with his eyes closed and muttered something she didn’t catch.

After a minute or so in which she could see he was tempted to just doze off again, he sighed and opened his eyes, adjusting his glasses with one hand as he brushed a hand through his hair with the other. He turned his head and looked up at her at the end of the bed.  
“Ok.. I’m awake enough.. I guess. Do you want to go first or shall I?!”

She hadn’t been aware that he had anything specific to say and gestured for him to go ahead.

He let his head fall back against the pillow and closed his eyes again, with a mildly troubled expression.   
“Yeah.. I thought you might say that. Ok.. Yeah... Where to begin..  
Well.. first off.. Ron’s downstairs. I told him not to come up here and i’ve warded the stairs a bit..but I thought you should know. He’s a bit irrational at the moment.   
Actually – they both are. Ginny’s down there somewhere crying because i’m such an insensitive git.   
I’m sorry I came into your room and lay down here without asking..I just couldn’t take any more and it’s the one place that neither of them can go now. Mione – she’s driving me mad! Stark raving mad. Are all pregnant witches like this or is she going to be like it forever?! And if so – how am I supposed to marry her!? I don’t want to spend the rest of my life walking on eggshells and avoiding my friends just to keep her happy!   
I’m so bloody tired of being screamed at. I just don’t want to argue anymore!”

Hermione swallowed. She had the strong feeling that Harry coming up to her bedroom seeking refuge wouldnt make his relationship with Ginny any better. She was going to end up in between them. Harry probably shouldn’t be telling her these things...

“Well.. The thing with Ginny is probably my fault. You knew before I came here that she was a bit..funny.. about me now that you’re marrying. I’m really sorry I came here, Harry – I didn’t want to put you in this position – I just had nowhere else to-“

Harry sat up quickly with a stricken expression  
“No. Stop, Mione! You don’t have anything to apologise for. You haven’t done anything wrong. Please..” he shifted on the bed and crawled to her side. “-Don’t regret coming to me when you needed me. The arguments are tiring me out because Ginny and Ron are being ridiculous. It’s nothing to do with you. I’ll take care of it, alright? Don’t worry!”  
He reached for her hand and something in the way he was looking at her made her get up from the bed quickly and pace away to the window, putting distance between them.

She knew it wasn’t that simple. It didn’t matter whether she had done anything. Her being here was difficult for them all. 

“Professor Snape left me something in his will” she said out of the blue, hoping it would steer them away from this uncomfortable tension that had settled in the room now. 

“Yeah.. me too.”   
The voice came from half a metre behind her. She jumped half a foot in the air, not expecting Harry to be so close. She hadn’t even heard him move.

“He left me a potion with a note that says it’ll fix my eyes. I didn’t take it. I’m...not sure I trust him. Even after..” Harry looked down and she was surprised to see spots of red high on his cheekbones.  
When he looked up, his eyes were shuttered.  
“Professor Dumbledore left me some memories. I didn’t get them till after Voldemort died. Snape...”  
Harry’s face flickered through confusion, anger and sadness.  
“Snape.. loved my mum.”

Hermione knew the surprise was written all over her face and couldn’t help herself.

“And he was the one who got her killed – he was the one who told Voldemort about the prophesy about me.  
He thought that Voldemort would kill me and my dad and then he’d be able to have my mum. He should have known that Snakeface is never interested in other people’s happiness. When he realised that my mum would be killed too, he went to Professor Dumbledore and begged for help.  
And Professor Dumbledore made him swear an oath of service.”

So many things about Professor Snape’s behaviour suddenly made more sense to Hermione. All at once she felt sympathy for him.   
She didn’t quite wish that she’d gone with him, but she did wish that he hadn’t died like he had.

“So.. maybe he spent twenty years trying to make up for the stupid selfish vicious thing he did when he was young, but I don’t really trust him enough to just swallow an unknown potion labelled with a vague note” Harry finished.

For want of anything better to say she remarked “He left me a desk.. It’s a nice desk I guess. I have nowhere to put it though and Gringotts says I can’t keep it there. Oh.. and he left something for his godson. I’m supposed to take it to him personally apparently. It was that floating block you asked about.”

Harry brightened considerably.  
“Great. We’ll take it to him tonight. Gives us a reason to get the hell out of here for the night. I really don’t want to go down there and eat at the table all together tonight.   
Oh.. and you can put the desk in here if you like. Or in another room if you don’t want it in here. I don’t mind.”

She was relieved and told him so, thanking him. He brushed it off again

 

 

Seven pm found Hermione holding the string of the charmed stone block and stepping out of a large marble fireplace inset with a green surface she suspected might be jade.   
Despite Harry’s encouragement, she had not changed into a dress. She didn’t see why she should dress up for some relative of Professor Snape. 

The room they had flooed into was a bit large and ostentatious though.. She wasn’t sure whether Harry might not have been right. 

There was a large expensive white, blue and black oriental rug centred in the small room – a room which seemed to serve no purpose other than as a chamber to house the floo. An archway displayed a view into a huge bright foyer with a broad sweeping staircase.   
Next to the archway was a small decorative table in polished wood and upon the table stood an ornate, old fashioned birdcage, on one smoothly curved stand   
...and inside the cage were miniature white peacocks. They were the size of finches. Instead of perches the cage held platforms and stairs along which the shrunken birds strutted

And she knew, suddenly where she was.

As if on cue ...Draco Malfoy sauntered in.

Her scowl was automatic. His smirk in response grated against her last nerve.

“Evening, Granger. You’re early.” He paused and his smirk broadened into a fully fledged sneer.   
“I take it from your less than congenial expression that you didn’t realise Severus was my Godfather”

She was shaking her head, about to point out that she wouldn’t have bothered coming if she’d known, when the floo flared behind her and Harry almost fell over her.   
He’d never been very good at flooing and it seemed that some things didn’t change.  
Catching her as she was overbalancing forward he pulled her back upright and she was reminded of the way he’d held her in the dark room for just a little too long. He didn’t do that this time though. If anything he let go of her too quickly and she wavered before catching her balance.

Malfoy was watching them with a small amused smile and narrowed silver eyes. 

Harry quickly glanced over at him and smiled sheepishly. “I’ll never get the hang of that.” He acknowledged. “Sorry to call at short notice. You weren’t doing anything, were you?”

Draco’s smile thinned. “Nothing that couldn’t be rescheduled. I’ve been wondering whether you’d ever contact me. We haven’t really spoken since...well.. since the last order meeting. I can understand Granger ignoring my invitation to visit, but-“

“You invited Hermione here? When?” Harry frowned slightly, looking between them both suspiciously

Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head at Harry.  
“It was at St Mungo’s. The day I woke up. He crept into my room and invited me round for..a..a. fireside chat.. I think. Something like that.”  
She didn’t want this to come up. Harry couldn’t know the circumstances surrounding their conversation.   
Draco wouldn’t remind him of what he apparently didn’t remember about the final moments of the battle, would he?!

“Actually..” Draco said quietly, with a studied neutral expression “I invited her to stay, if she found that things became too much. It was an innocent gesture on my part. I wasn’t intending to sell her for potion’s ingredients.” He turned to Hermione and the earnest focus in his eyes almost convinced her that he was being genuine.   
“I thought that you might have trouble with your muggle parents – they were outside in the corridor fussing when I arrived. So were Ginny Weasley and her brother...   
I thought.. you might not like to complicate Harry’s home life by coming between two affianced parents-to-be. And obviously I could see that the midden would really hit the windmill when the weasel discovered that you weren’t about to settle for a life with a sorry excuse for a wizard..or man..like him..”

Harry spluttered a defense of Ron. She thought that his bluster sounded a bit automatic though.   
He hadn’t been too complimentary about Ron in private. This was probably just expected if Draco Malfoy said anything negative about any of his friends. He’d probably do the same for her.

Draco just smiled secretively. Hermione could almost hear his thoughts broadcasting around the room. ‘Settling for Ronald Weasley wasn’t possible after having the most powerful wizard in the world.’

“Well.. either way-“ Draco continued in a placating voice “It doesn’t matter what I think of him, does it?! ...The offer still stands, Granger. I have dozens of rooms here. You could have a wing of the Manor to yourself, if you really cannot face running into me occasionally. The protective wards here are the strongest and most reliable that galleons and centuries of blood consecration can attain. You would be safe here..”

At her dubious expression he added lightly “Well.. Think it over anyway. Take all the time you need.” 

To her surprise, Harry stepped closer to her and said, almost defensively “She’s safe with me too. And as for coming between me and Gin – That’s not Hermione’s fault – that’s Gin being irrational. I’m sure she’ll get over it. It’s probably the hormones”

Draco shrugged slightly as if to say ‘perhaps’ and gestured for Harry to precede him out into the foyer. He fell into step beside Hermione, much to her discomfort. Harry corrected the situation when he glanced back and noticed, moving to her side and offering her his arm. 

“Why are you taking a piece of masonry for a walk, if I might ask, Granger?”

“Why don’t you ever use her name?!” Harry muttered peevishly. 

Draco seemed surprised.

“Because she hasn’t offered it to me! It would be incredibly rude of me to presume to call her by her first name without permission. Even to raise the issue like this in passing is impolite. I know you were raised by muggles but didn’t you pay any attention to the behaviour of others at school?!”

She was staring at him, trying to work out whether he was making a joke. The absence of a smirk was not proof either way.   
Raising an eyebrow she questioned cautiously “Is that the only reason you’ve always called me Granger?”

Draco snorted as if he found this insuppressibly funny. “No. Of course not. And I didn’t always call you Granger.”

It was as if he’d said the word itself. It hovered there heavy, glutted, unspoken in the air all around them.   
But it wasn’t his word anymore. Voldemort had taken the word and twisted it.. turned it into a term of endearment.. into something that excited her.

She narrowed her eyes and avoided both of their faces, finding the bronze statue in the corner of the room extremely interesting all of a sudden.

“That was..indelicate..of me” Draco said softly.   
Again she wasn’t sure how to interpret the remark. Was he being serious? Was it an apology? He hadn’t apologised.. he’d just observed aloud that he’d been rude.   
“The past is better left in the past”

That was probably the closest Draco Malfoy had ever come to apologising. She thought it was a piss poor attempt and, suddenly impatient to be leaving again, she thrust the string in his direction.   
“Here. This is for you. Professor Snape left it to you. His note insisted I deliver it personally. I’ve delivered it.” She looked at Harry pointedly, who in turn sheepishly avoided her eyes.

Draco had automatically accepted the string to the bobbing stone block but was looking slightly panicked now. He said hurriedly, with less composure “But surely you’ll both stay for dinner at least. Harry..said you wanted to come for..” He trailed off and looked at Harry imploringly.

Harry biting his lip, sighed and then, it seemed, made Draco’s apology for him.   
“Mione.. He didn’t mean it.. or..maybe he did. He’s still a bit of a git from time to time.. but he’s not the same git he used to be. I did say we’d come over for dinner and maybe a drink..and it sounded like he cancelled something else on short notice just to see us. We can go if you really want to.. but..”

Oh god. The bloody puppy dog eyes. Aaaugh. The pain of it! She wanted to slap him.  
How in hell was she supposed to insist they leave now. She was already asking Harry for so much and it seemed like he wanted to stay. And she certainly didn’t want to go back to Grimmauld Place to be alone with Ginny and Ron. 

“Alright” she growled. “Fine. But if I even have the impression he’s thinking that word at me, i’ll hex him! I’m warning you!”

Harry smiled like a kid at a birthday party. “He won’t. Will you?!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it..” Draco purred, the very picture of cool composure once more.

 

 

The meal was less awkward than she imagined it would be. It seemed that Harry and Draco really got along much better than she’d ever have thought possible. They laughed and chatted to mutual enjoyment without the tiniest of uncomfortable pauses. They even managed to drag her into the conversation most of the time.   
No one referred at all to the time that she’d spent incarcerated, or, strangely enough, to the time spent at Hogwarts together. The conversation remained centred around more objective themes – The future of the ministry, the new laws that were being proposed to the Wizengamot lately, the rebuilding efforts, the areas where more work was needed and the various foibles of mutually known friends.   
Ginny and Ron were amiably butchered by Harry in the name of entertainment, while Draco derided the transparent seduction attempts of Pansy Parkinson, Catherine Toady, Seralina Dore and, interestingly enough, Terrence Van der Bruer, who had actually hired an assassin to attempt to sneak in and drug him with a targeted Love Philtre.

Hermione found it a curious idea. She’d never considered before whether Draco might swing the other way.   
Harry obviously had, or at least he didn’t seem to find the information at all surprising.

After dinner Draco suggested they retire to the library for a drink, so that they could help him try to figure out why his Godfather had sent him a stone block.   
It was a testament to how effectively they had both disarmed her over dinner that she was not immediately opposed to the idea.   
She took Harry’s arm quite contentedly and noted only peripherally the way he seemed to know exactly where the library was located. 

When he led her through the doors after Draco, she stopped dead, her neck arched, craning up in awe. 

She didn’t believe she’d ever seen anything more beautiful.

The room was vast and high, spanning three floors and then soaring up another storey, culminating in a huge deep blue stained glass dome set with stars  
It reminded her of the stained glass in the bedroom Harry had created. She wondered, but abandoned the thought again in favour of further visual exploration.

The walls were set in some kind of cream coloured stone and the bookshelves were all old, stained and polished wood, thousands upon thousands of tomes winking at her in the glorious half-light.   
Great tall arched windows broke the long wall on the right but they were fuzzed with milky golden glass and the last rays of the sun that filtered through them were soft and orangey. 

Harry tugged her and she allowed herself, with mild irritation, to be dragged through the room, past tables with small blue desk lamps and down a corridor of imposing bookshelves packed with titles she’d never read. She looked at them longingly as they passed. When she looked around, she was in a small corner nook of the library, dark and lit with trapped blue glowing lights in glass tubes. The furniture was wide and low and strewn with thick furs. She tried to remember if there was any magical animal that had a black and white pelt in a chessboard pattern.

In the very corner of the corner niche was a small fireplace that burned with a blue flame. She realised, as she drew closer, that she couldn’t feel any heat emanating from it, although the room was quite warm enough. It didn’t really need a fire. It was an illusion for atmosphere perhaps? 

She looked back over her shoulder toward the wonderful library that she could no longer see in this dark little place. It felt like the rest of the library disappeared when you were back here. 

“Granger, you’re salivating” Draco said with a smug smirk, as he pressed a wide tumbler full of something toffee coloured into her hand.

“Sorry..” she said before she caught herself, and was irritated to see him even more amused. Turning away, embarrassed, she found that Harry had deposited himself in the corner of the sofa, spreading out as if he owned the place. He accepted his own drink from Draco with a nod of acknowledgement. 

Once again, she had the distinct sense that Harry and Draco must have somehow spent a lot of time together. They were so much at ease around one another. It was really..odd.   
As nice as Draco might be being.   
No.  
As snide and smug and borderline insulting as he was being, it was really nice compared to how she’d seen him before.   
As ..nice.. as Draco was being, she found she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. And considering how he’d filled out over the course of the war, that probably wasn’t very far at all.

She sniffed the drink in her hand surreptitiously as he was making his way over to the chair closest to the fire, on Harry’s other side. The brown liquid smelled of cream and something sweet.  
Harry, watching her distrust, smiled affectionately and sipped his own drink.

Gingerly she sat down on the far side of the sofa that Harry was sitting on. A no-man’s-land of leather and fur extended between them. She’d considered the other chair but that really would have made it blatant that she was sitting away from him.

“So.. Interesting..furs..” she said idly, toying with the base of her tumbler. 

“Mm.” Draco said, swallowing his mouthful. “Yes. They’re just ordinary polar bear, charmed into the pattern. However they are the warmest furs available.”

“Mione..” Harry murmured into his glass just as she opened her mouth to inform Draco exactly how endangered polar bears were and how irresponsible it was of him to buy them.   
She closed her mouth and scowled at Harry instead.

He sighed and leaned back, nursing his half finished drink.

“So..” Draco said after the silence dragged on a bit and turned uncomfortable. “I take it you don’t like your drink. Is there something else you’d rather? I have... ...everything really. Name it.. if I don’t have it, i’m sure an elf can go and fetch it.”

She shook her head slightly. “Thank you. I’m fine.”

Harry sighed. “He’s not going to poison you.. or drug you. Really. It’s ok.”

She smiled uncomfortably and returned “I’m not really much of a drinker. I’d rather not.”

Draco groaned.  
“Granger.. Live a little. You aren’t going to be dancing on the table from one little drink.. I promise.”

She watched as Harry finished his own glass.

Reluctantly she lifted the tumbler and took a very..very small sip of the creamy liquid within. It tasted like caramel and mint but a soft burn followed in its wake.   
It wasn’t unpleasant...  
She smiled tightly at both boys, who were watching her with, in Harry’s case, soft affection, and in Draco’s case, muted scorn.

“Yeah...well.. I can see that getting you to loosen up is going to be about as easy as emptying the lake outside with a thimble. No reason for us to suffer along with you though. Harry – want something else? I only ordered toffee fireballs because I thought Granger might like something soft and sweet.”

Harry seemed to deliberate on it for a while, his emerald gaze fixed on her uncertainly.

She had the sudden unbearable feeling that the boys would both be happier if she weren’t there. 

“I don’t know, Draco” he said finally. “We don’t want to stay too late.. and you know how it can get.”

Hermione didn’t know how it could get. How could it get?! Did Harry spend a lot of time getting drunk with Draco Malfoy while she was in the cage?!

Ok.. to be fair.. she wasn’t always in the cage.. quite a lot of the time toward the end she was in Voldemort’s bed and occasionally she was in the dungeons. And Harry had thought she was dead.  
But still.

Feeling inexplicably defiant at the sense of being excluded even as she was patronisingly catered to, she took a large gulp of her drink.   
It burned much more than the little sip had. She choked slightly and gasped for air. Both boys chuckled, watching her redden in reaction to the alcohol.

“Yeah.. sure then..” Harry said softly. “I’ll have another one. Make it a red rum with horntail.”

Draco’s eyes glinted in pleasure. “Merlin.. I have no idea how you can like that drink. It’s vile!”

Harry’s smile looked quite dark for a moment.   
“Its.. I think it’s the idea of it more than anything. Tastes like..revenge. I can’t explain. It’s nuts, I know. It’s what I want, anyway.

Hermione, struggling to keep drinking the overly sweet and uncomfortably hot drink, watched as Draco glided away to a cabinet by the wall. She didn’t hear him speak but two drinks appeared on the sideboard. He brought them both back. His own was a livid green and glowed slightly.   
Harry’s was a deep horrible red.  
She swallowed her mouthful and it went down the wrong way, causing her to cough as her eyes watered. She felt a hand patting her back gently and blinked away the tears to find Draco crouching beside her with concern on his pointy face.   
That made her recover quickly. She was a half second away from admonishing him for touching her when he removed his hand and stood in one move, turning on the ball of his foot and gliding back to his chair.   
He sat down with a somewhat pensive look on his face. 

Feeling off balance, she looked at Harry, only to find him sipping at the horrible drink.   
It left a slight red rim around the top of his lip.   
He licked it away with visible satisfaction. She watched the point of his pink tongue travel over the curve of his top lip.

The heat that rose in her cheeks was just the alcohol, obviously.

“What..is a red rum with horntail..exactly?” she asked quietly, unsure if she really wanted to know. If it was what she suspected, she really didn’t need to know.

“It’s a warm aged rum mixed two parts to one with Dragons blood.” Draco explained with a smirk of schadenfreude at her discomfort. “I’m told that it is a vastly different taste experience according to which breed of dragon is used. However.. as I’d rather not drink animals blood if I can possibly avoid it, I guess I’ll never know. The Chinese fireball is most popular among those that do like it.”

She felt queasy.  
It was pretty much what she’d feared – only worse. Warm blood?! Eww..

Harry just continued to happily consume his awful drink.  
She wondered whether he had some secret wish to be a vampire. 

 

By the time she was finishing her second vodka gimlet and Harry was downing his fifth red rum they were all chatting with bright flushed enthusiasm and she was really beginning to feel almost comfortable.   
Draco wasn’t so bad after all, she decided. He knew how to tell a dry, witty, joke and he had some interesting stories. 

At present he was telling them about the time when, as a very small child, he’d broken a vase, while on a visit to a prominent acquaintance of the family. He’d been left in a stuffy sitting room by himself and the temptation had been too great to play with his toy snitch. The vase had been one casualty of his mad dash around the room after the low flying golden ball.   
Except it hadn’t been a vase at all - it had been an urn.   
What he’d thought was dust had gone everywhere!   
Thinking he’d get into trouble, he’d tried to scrape up all the dust with his fingers and put it in the grate. He’d ended up with it all over him.   
At wit’s end, he’d finally summoned a house elf and made the protesting creature vanish all the ash and promise not to tell anyone that he’d been involved.   
He hadn’t realised what he’d done until a few weeks later when his father called him into the study and made him confess to breaking the urn. When the elder Malfoy had sternly explained what had been inside it and why it was a rather big deal to throw out the earthly remains of the late wife of the Minister of Magic, Draco had had nightmares for weeks about dead people chasing him and for a long time afterward refused to travel by floo or touch anything even faintly dusty. 

Hermione found the image somehow touching and offensive at the same time. She could just imagine a tiny panicking blonde boy picking up the ashes by the handful and running to the grate with them.

“Another drink, Granger?” Draco asked, lazily rolling his head toward her as it lay against the back of the fur draped leather chair he was slouching in.

“Mm maybe” she said with a smile. “Your turn Harry. Tell us a story!”

Harry furrowed his brow and finished his drink in one mouthful.   
“You know.. I don’t really have any good ones” he said uncertainly. “-and you’ve heard most of them already.”

“Tell me about something recent then” she said without thinking, and then found herself regretting it. Anything recent would only bring the spectres of Ginny and Ron into the room.   
Draco seemed to sense it too since he dragged himself up and moved to the cabinet to get them all a new drink. 

The silence stretched for a while and then Harry said, quietly “Ok.. um.. letssee.. There was the time when we were on the run and ate some bad mushrooms that Ginny found and I ended up having horrible hallucinations that Snape was dissecting me alive for potions ingredients. It was bloody awful. And I had weird nightmares afterward too. Every night for ages..”

“Weird?” Hermione prompted, accepting her drink from Draco with a mumbled thanks and a smile.

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes, taking his own drink with only a brief glance up at Draco and tossing back a large gulp.   
“Yeah.. I know.. when’d I ever not have weird nightmares!? But these were different. Just weird. Nothing happened in them. I just felt weak and scared and like I couldn’t move. Night terrors, one of the healers at Mungo’s told me they’re called. I asked ‘bout it while I was there with you – cause I still get them sometimes. Not very often though.. I didn’t know whether I was awake or asleep sometimes.” He shivered.

“...that reminds me of another horrible story I shouldn’t tell you! There was a time when we all had to take turns wearing one of Voldemort’s horcruxes, to make sure we didn’t lose it if we had to run. ..Slytherin’s locket..   
One night when I was wearing it, for almost seven hours it just wouldn’t stop whispering in my head about how much better the world would be, how much better I’d feel if I just killed Ron and Ginny in their sleep. It went on and on. Sometimes it made all these reasonable sounding arguments and then it would just go back to ordering and cajoling.. and whispering. It was worst when it whispered..”  
Harry’s expression turned dark and contemplative.  
“I spose I don’t really wish they were dead.. S’a bit extreme.. but..a lot lately I jus’ wish I didn’t have t’go home.”

She blinked, Her gaze flicking between the slightly unfocused guilty expression on Harry’s face and the knowing smirk on Draco’s

“Feels so much better now you’re here, Mione. Well.. better n’worse, y’know? Everything’d be better if you were Ginny. Or.. or.. something.” He blinked, confused and seemingly shocked at what he’d just said.  
“Not that I wish you were like her. S’not that. I don’t even like her. Don’ be her. I juss wish I could go back n’ change it.. wish i’d never.. wish she wasn’t..” he blushed and pulled his horrible drink to his lips again, downing it with flushed cheeks. 

She was suddenly feeling too drunk to deal with this line of thinking right now. Harry implying that he wished he could be with her and not Ginny was just terrible on so many levels. It was almost worse than him not noticing her at all.   
Why hadn’t Voldemort foreseen this?!   
She no longer wanted Harry. To be with Harry would be worse than being with anyone else in the world. Voldemort had changed everything.

She was spared further uncomfortable drunken confessions on Harry’s part since Draco had apparently just remembered the reason for their visit again. Sitting up with a start, his face was the picture of bright curious anticipation. He placed his green concoction on the floor, and summoned a house elf to bring him the stone block. It left the object on the floor in front of him and departed again with a brief bow.

“Maybe it’ssa kinda rare stone used in potions?” Harry slurred. “Some gredient?”

Greedy ant, greedy ant Hermione’s mind chortled insensibly. 

“Merlin’s balls – were you even in potions, Harry?!” the blonde exclaimed, disgusted “Its limestone! Yes. It’s a potions ingredient, but a common one. And cheap also. He wouldn’t leave me this if that were all it were. I could buy mountains of limestone if I needed it.”   
Draco sounded entirely sober and focused.   
Hermione wondered how much he drank and how frequently. She knew for her own part she had had way too much to drink now. She was drunk in fact.

He ran his wand over the object with apparently little success. He touched it. Nothing. Whispered several incantations to no observable effect.

“maybe s’blood” she said and then slapped her hand over her mouth, horrified at how she’d sounded. Draco, though, glanced up and nodded agreement before slicing his wand down his palm without hesitation and drizzling the red liquid over the top of the stone.

She watched, fascinated by the bright red stream falling from his pale white hand. 

It was peculiar how this bothered her so much less than the idea of Harry drinking warm dragon’s blood.   
What did that say about her as a person?!

The blood was the answer.   
She could see now the way that it seemed to be eating into the stone, welling deeper and deeper as the top of the block became concave and then a visible hole appeared. When it seemed that no further change was taking place Draco withdrew his hand and healed it absently.

Then he leaned cautiously over the stone and peered inside.

Hermione waited for something to jump out and bite him

Evidently there was nothing of concern within, since he reached into the stone a few moments later and gingerly removed what turned out to be a small piece of parchment and a long slender opaque bottle.  
Draco read the parchment, frowning slightly at first, and then seemed delighted by it. Almost disbelieving of his own good fortune. 

“Do you know what this is?!” he demanded in a tight excited tone.

She and Harry both shook their alcohol mazed heads. The motion made her entire world spin wildly.

“Its Ocra!” Draco almost squealed in joy. “It’s impossible to get these days. No one can make it. The ingredients are virtually all restricted and there are probably only a handful of potions masters who might have the skill to brew it.   
This is something that only he could give me. I’ve never been able to buy any, although I’ve tried.”

“Wazzit do?” Harry wondered aloud.

“What does it do?!! It..” Draco paused and took a deep breath, as if trying to forcibly calm himself.  
“It..makes you feel good... I don’t know. I can’t describe it. I’ve only ever tried it once. And it was just a thimbleful. You can’t know till you’ve tasted it.”

Harry looked dubious and Hermione herself was already struggling through the strangely complex mental steps rehearsing a polite refusal of something that was apparently the greatest thing Draco could imagine.

Draco bit his lip, looking at Harry. It seemed like he was facing a painful choice.   
Finally he seemed to reach a decision.

“I will allow you to have a very small taste of it, if you want” he said, as if offering one of his own kidneys.

Hesitating, Harry looked at Hermione. “whaddya think, Mione? Wanna try ocra?”

She was already shaking her head when Draco interrupted hastily “She can’t. One of the ingredients is seasnake venom. It’s something you have to have a resistance to. I was exposed in childhood and you tolerate reptile ingredients. Or at least.. all the ones that I’ve seen that can be mixed in cocktails. Granger will end up in St Mungo’s again if she drinks this.”

Harry looked sorrowful.   
“M’sorry I dint save you sooner Mione” he mumbled. “Nex time I’ll do it right, ok?”

She nodded, smiling at his state.   
Even so, she didn’t think that it was a good idea for Harry to drink anything with any kind of venom in it. Poisons had venom in. And some sleeping draughts. But only spider venoms. And they were dangerous.. addictive.. easily overdosed.  
She was listing in her head all the potions she knew of that used acromantula venom when Harry swallowed the shot glass of black liquid.

“Harry!” she cried, just a few moments too late. He was swallowing thickly, as if trying to dislodge something in his throat and his eyes were half lidded. 

“Miney” he mumbled, sounding extremely relaxed and strangely playful. “ ‘v I ever told you you’re.. so.. ...so.. .. hey... do y’see the way the..the..moon’s moving..in in the fire? So.. pretty..

She had dropped her glass and crawled over to him before she could change her mind. She knew a few simple diagnostic spells and a couple of more complex dark ones. Draco watched with interest while she cast the latter.

Harry was muttering something about the white wall now. Something like the white wall was coming or cutting. It was all very slurred. It frustrated her that her own mind was responding sluggishly and she couldn’t make sense of the readings on the spells she’d cast.   
Surely she shouldn’t be this drunk. Even if she hardly ever drank – she’d had three drinks and she was having trouble concentrating enough to string two thoughts together.   
Harry had said that Draco wouldn’t poison or drug her..

She turned to look at said potential poisoner, only to find that he wasn’t in his chair anymore. The pale hand that descended in between her face and Harry’s nearly made her jump out of her skin when she noticed it, a few seconds slower than she should have. Harry giggled softly as Draco, standing behind him on the sofa, stroked white fingertips down his cheek and then pressed them below his chin, tilting his head back.   
The silver eyes were fixed on her however.

“Ocra, named after its ochre colour is so rare that it’s virtually unobtainable. Severus couldn’t brew it however, because it has to be brewed by a virginal witch. Grife is black. It’s also both a hallucinogen and an aphrodisiac. You would have known this, Granger – if you had been present in potions at the end of sixth year. Slughorn lectured on potions of intoxication and abuse. It was one of his final classes.   
I slipped a befuddlement draught into his last red rum, not that it would have mattered if I hadn’t – he wasn’t listening in that class at all.”  
He leaned down then and brushed his lips against Harry’s, lingering slightly. The green-eyed boy moaned wantonly and tried to kiss him, reaching up with sluggish arms that Draco easily avoided.

“Look how responsive he is already. He’ll have a hell of a night if one of us doesn’t take him to bed. I’ve heard Severus describe it once. It sounded horrific.” Draco looked morbidly fascinated. “The potion makes sex amazing though apparently. I told him I wanted to try it but he was always reluctant to allow me to, in light of the serious side effects possible with the potion.”

Hermione tried to piece together her mind. “what..did.. Why? You..”

The sneer was terrible. She found herself almost physically transported back to third year. It was a jarring disorientating feeling. 

“Because, mudblood, it’s to my advantage...”

She recoiled as if he’d slapped her.

Draco smirked, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on her.   
“Severus might have left it for me.. but I haven’t wasted much and this way – you’ll either have to watch him suffering all night or you’ll take pity on him and fuck him – which will lead to major problems with the Weasley idiots when they find out – and Potter is far too principled to allow you to stay there without telling them.   
When Ginevra Weasley learns that you’ve had your way with her poor inebriated husband-to-be, you’ll be lucky if all she insists upon is your leaving her future home and never returning.  
On the other hand..the only way Harry might decide not to tell his little red headed slave driver would be if you were no longer living there. Then he could convince himself that the problem was gone.  
...And of course... either way, you’ll have nowhere else to go then. I’ll be your best alternative.” 

She took in Draco’s slow graceful passage around the couch, feeling herself on the brink of jumping up and trying to run away. Although she hadn’t really understood what he’d just been talking about.. (something about Ginny? And Harry?) she had the vague feeling that it wasn’t good. It was something she should be worried about.   
When the blonde wizard reached her, he lowered himself down to half kneel behind her, his movements smooth and fluid. She shivered in horrified revulsion when Draco cautiously reached out and gripped her by the shoulders, twisting her back and tugging her against his chest. She felt him bow his head and inhale next to her hair. Then he bowed lower and she really did squeak in horror as his tongue flickered out and licked her neck experimentally. 

“Incidentally..Hermione.. Harry’s wasn’t the only spiked drink. Come morning, you’re not going to remember anything other than the obvious - that you, unwisely, drank too much with Harry and myself and ended up in bed with him. Whatever happens tonight.. that will be what you believe in the morning. Trust me.. I’m very good with memory charms.”  
He sniffed in amusement next to her ear.  
“Maybe we should do it together... ...Fuck the boy saviour, I mean.”   
She couldn’t see him but she felt the sucking kiss he laid on her throat and struggled ineffectually against the arms that held her in place. 

“After all.. It’s not as if I haven’t had Harry before...” Draco murmured with an audible smirk. “-and what does it matter if I take a small preview of your pleasures?! You’re going to be living here soon.. and soon after you’ll be mine.   
Whatever the Dark Lord saw in you that made him place you above all other witches and wizards, despite your blood... It’ll be mine. Malfoys always get the best - and for some reason I’ve yet to fully understand, you are the best.“

She turned her head to see him out of the corner of her eye smirking at her wolfishly.   
She knew Draco had just said something awful. She wasn’t sure why it was awful. And it had somehow sounded a bit like a compliment. But she just felt it in her bones – she should be hopping mad right now. If it had been possible, she would have cursed him, but it seemed like she must have dropped her wand after she’d cast dark diagnostic spells on Harry, the results of which she couldn’t remember anyway. Her mind was becoming more and more vague..   
She was disturbed. Draco was looking at her.. touching her. Did he want something? What was going on? Had she drifted off for a moment?! She didn’t quite understand what was going on.   
Why was Harry staring at the fire with such a strange haunted expression?! He was running his hand up and down his own thigh as if stroking a cat. Draco.. Draco was very close. She could feel his breath on her neck.

“What do you say, mudblood? Shall we take the boy saviour upstairs and share him? He’s already squirming for affection. He’ll be screaming soon if we don’t give him what he needs...what he wants..”

She shook her head, trying to clear it.   
“No.. stop. Malfoy.. I can’t.. I can’t think.. help!”  
Asking him for help felt impossibly wrong somehow. And yet he was looking at her with sympathy and something like tenderness. She couldn’t put together what was happening. Draco was too close and why was it so dark?.. blue lights.. Harry’s eyes were closed as he lay slumped on the sofa. He looked like he was sleeping.. Draco’s eyes were so silvery.

Kissing her. Someone was kissing. She kissed back mindlessly, sucking at the hot wet muscle that invaded her mouth. There was a low growl of appreciation. An arm went around her.. Another hand was grazing up her abdomen over the robes, up higher, was cupping her breast and squeezing almost painfully. She thought about struggling but she wasn’t sure whether that was the right thing to do. Who was she kissing?! Was it him?! No no.. it wasn’t him.. he was dead. Who then?! What was happening? Was it a spell?! Nothing made sense. But it felt good. She whimpered and arched against the body above her, pressing herself harder against the hand massaging and teasing her breast. Her partner’s lips moved from her mouth, kissing a path to her ear and nipping at her deliciously. His hot breath made her shudder in pleasure.   
Voldemort. She wanted it to be Voldemort. If she closed her eyes she could almost believe it was.

Then the lips were dragged away abruptly and she heard a meaty thudding sound a few times. 

When she opened her eyes again they met bright Avada Kedavra green ones.

“Harry!” she breathed in relief. “What’s going on?! I can’t.. cant’t..remember.. or.. or something.. Were we kissing?!”   
Harry looked a bit sad for a moment but then he whispered decisively “yes.”   
He got to his feet and, shakily at first, slipped his arms under her, pulling her up against him and lifting. She reached out and clung to him as her head whirled woozily.

“I want to go home” she whimpered under her breath, thinking about the cage... 

“I’m taking you home” came the answer. “We’re leaving now”

He stumbled with her through the library and back out to the foyer. From the floo chamber, they flooed back to Grimmauld place, where Harry rested for a moment in a chair in the sitting room, with her on his lap, still clinging to him. She could feel him shaking slightly and wondered vaguely why.

After a time he held her tightly again and, with effort, stood. He tried to apparate, and seemed disorientated when they reappeared halfway up the stairs to the third floor. He nearly dropped her. Unsteadily, he put her down and helped her walk up the last few stairs. She had the problem that she didn’t know where she was going or where she was. But with his hand in hers the final level of stairs and the corridor to her room were negotiated without too many stops and reversals. He almost fell through the door into her room with her and herded her across to the bed. 

She was confused when he started to undress.

“Do you sleep here too?!” she asked, trying to remember whether she might have somehow started to date Harry and forgotten about it.

“Mm.” He replied absently, tugging off his final article of clothing, the black boxers he’d been wearing. She barely had time to register how gorgeous he looked unclothed before he moved to her side swiftly and started to unfasten her black robes. She batted at his hand, feeling strangely distressed.

“No.. stop.. you’re not.. not.. right.... Don’t, Harry.”

Giving a little growl of impatience, Harry flicked with his hand and her clothing disappeared all at once - with the strange exception of one stocking.   
She squeaked and tried to cover herself but he had already captured her wrists and dragged her in a rough circle, tossing her onto the bed. She looked around just in time to see him climb on behind her and crawl across to her with a very intent look in his green eyes. 

“Calm down, Mione..” he murmured in reaction to her distress. “You know you want me. You’ve always wanted me. I need you now...and you can’t escape anyway.. so relax.. You will enjoy this..”

She didn’t feel her panic lifting at that disturbing little announcement and struggled when she was manipulated until she lay on her back. Harry was crawling over her and she couldn’t remember what was wrong. He wasn’t the right person or something.. She started to freak out because she couldn’t really identify why she was feeling scared and upset.

“Shhh.. calm.. Calm down” he whispered soothingly as he lowered his body to press more skin against her. It felt wonderful and terrible at the same time. Wrong. 

“No..” she whimpered softly. 

Her further protests were smothered by Harry’s lips descending and insistently ensnaring her own. He took the kiss, forcing her to open to him in shock, his tongue stealing into her mouth and teasing her own. Confused and taken aback, she responded without thinking at first. His low moan of delight made her body sing in want. Thus distracted, her hands were grasped gently and pressed down against the bed beside her head. She tugged at them weakly but Harry was so much stronger and he seemed somehow dangerous right now. 

“Want you, Mione” he mumbled against her lips. The movement tickled and she licked her lips to relieve the sensation. His body was hard and hot as he braced himself above her, balanced.   
With a sense of reluctant relief, she gave up fighting against her strange confusion and simply listened to what her body wanted. It wanted Harry. Now! She leaned up the couple of centimetres that now separated them and licked at his lip teasingly.   
The small sign of willingness seemed to spur him on and he kissed her hard, almost violently, sucking and biting at her. 

For only a second he let go of her hands in order to tear off his glasses, tossing them away to the side in irritation, before he returned and stormed her mouth again. 

Somewhere in the midst of the kissing she felt a slight cool dribble against her hip. Something had dripped on her.   
She wasn’t so confused that she couldn’t work out what that was.   
Harry started to nudge her thighs wider with his knees, sliding lower as they parted. Now she felt a hot hard bar touch and then rest against her naked mons. She wriggled and tugged at her arms but the familiar wizard above her, her best friend, only tightened his grip and pressed down. There was a slight sting and then he pulled his hands away and she found that she still couldn’t move her own.

“Struggle all you want now.” Harry purred in a way that both terrified and excited her.   
The feeling was familiar.   
With a tingling ache of anticipation, she didn’t resist as he spread her thighs wider still, leaning back on his heels and gazing down upon her body completely bared to him. His eyes roved over her, almost glowing with bright hunger.   
She felt his fingertips trail up her thighs slowly, but just as she was starting to move; to wind her hips against the tickling, tempting sensation, it stopped and Harry leaned down over her again, falling upon her breasts with wet open kisses and love bites. His hands were everywhere, stroking and scratching and gripping her. She whined helplessly, twisting beneath him.   
When he latched onto the tight little bud of her nipple and sucked hard, she squealed and tugged at her wrists, wanting to push him away to relieve the ache. He closed his teeth on her nipple as if in warning and then sucked hard again, pulling her into an arch as he tugged her nipple upward, his teeth closing with the movement into a sharp bite. She groaned at the tang of painful pleasure and he released her, panting and grinning.   
“Like that?!” he asked and proceeded to scatter sharp nips all down her abdomen.   
Although he licked over each one afterward, they still stung and she was more and more scared, the further down he moved.   
“..D-don’t.. Harry.. please!” she whimpered as she felt his warm breath on the sensitive skin of her nether lips. 

He hesitated for only a second, green eyes meeting her own with a scary devil-may-care glint in them, before he dropped down lower and started to lick her.   
It was nothing like Voldemort. Voldemort had seemed to know everything.. he’d tuned his movements as if he were playing an instrument. Harry licked her like an animal devouring prey. She could no more resist his attack than she could have resisted Voldemort.. but it was very different.   
Well..with the exception of one thing, she realised.   
She was just as afraid that Harry might decide to hurt her at any second, as she had been every time she’d been with Voldemort. She’d never expected Harry would be like this. He was..nice.. protective. He was shy and modest and good. 

She yelped out in shock as her clit was suddenly sucked roughly. It felt like.. too much... Like electricity galvanising her.   
His hum of pleasure transferred through his lips to her and her whine descended into a moan. She flexed her hips up against him, following the tug of his mouth.

When he released her she heard him give a soft chuckle. It sounded quite dark.

“You taste better than her” he spoke softly against her dripping folds. She didn’t really understand and didn’t care. She moved her hips, trying to urge him to continue. He did, a moment later, circling his tongue around her entrance and then dipping in and thrusting it as far as he could into her. It was frustratingly insufficient. She wanted more inside her. She wanted him.. his cock..  
No.. no.. his wasn’t the cock she wanted.. She struggled to think as he slid two fingers in beneath his tongue and pumped her. It made her hips buck automatically in need. It was better.. but still not enough. Not nearly.

“Please.. “ she whispered

The tonguing stopped but the fingers continued twisting and pumping in her. 

“Please? Please what?!” Harry asked in a low teasing voice. She was shocked again that he would act this way. And she had no idea what he wanted. 

“Please.. I need.. I need more..”

In response Harry only returned his mouth to her clit and fluttered his tongue over it in a way that made her legs quiver. She moaned and found herself chasing her climax almost immediately. If he would just.. keep doing that.. Her breath came out shivery and shallow and she licked her lips, fisting her hands in frustration at having nothing to grip.

As her release sped closer and closer and her movements became faster and more urgent, she was afraid that he would stop.. that he would tease her. Voldemort had usually teased her.. used her desperate need in order to force her to say things.. or to beg.   
She had liked it and hated it at the same time. It always made her tense with adrenalin as she neared completion.

“God.. please.. please don’t stop!” She groaned.   
Harry’s tongue only strummed her faster. He added another finger and twisted them inside her, pumping her hard. She was panting and whining now. So close... almost there..   
It was when she was just tipping over the edge that Harry bit down on her clit. She screamed her lungs out! It hurt like hell and she came even so, the pain and pleasure twining in her brain. 

Sketchily, she was aware of him crawling higher and slinging her legs over his arms. He was thrusting into her before she was even down from the rush. She gasped at the feeling of being suddenly filled. And so completely filled. It felt perfect. Like.. an itch she couldn’t quite reach while he was licking her.   
From his low exultant groan, it was clear that he was pleased too. He slid out slowly, his head bowed, his eyes closed and then he slammed back into her, wringing a thrilled yelp from her.   
He fucked her hard, setting up a brutal pace, alternating his movements every minute or so with slow circling or rolling before returning to drilling her rough and fast.  
When she closed her eyes, it almost felt right.. like him. Like Voldemort. But he growled “look at me” and she had to open them again to see the familiar face.. the acid green eyes..the skin that wasn’t at all marble white. 

He fucked her to another moaning climax ..but when he drew close to his own end, he pulled out suddenly and spent himself on her belly with gritted teeth and a growl of frustration.   
“have to be careful” he muttered, seemingly to himself. 

Shaking his head as if dazed he flicked his hand. When nothing happened he frowned and did it again. On the third try she felt a scourgify ripple over her.   
He flopped down on the bed next to her a moment later, his breathing almost normal again. She looked at him – black hair matted and sweaty, his eyes half lidded and sleepy but still bright. His shoulders and neck showed the change to his body most. He was sinew and muscle now. 

“How do you feel?” he asked, his head on her pillow and hand stroking down her damp abdomen slowly.

“I..don’t know. Tired. Confused. Relaxed. Don’t ask me things. It makes my head hurt.”  
She watched the familiar beautiful face tighten slightly as a flicker of something flashed through the acid green eyes. Guilt? Worry? 

“Me too” he said softly. “But.. I know I want you.. I want you even more now. Everything is so..fucked up. What am I going to do?! I can’t exactly leave her. And I don’t want to stay.”

“I don’t know Harry. I.. I’m not sure what you mean. I...can’t move my arms.” She tugged at them “Did I get hurt somehow?”

He stared at her.  
“No. You’re fine” he said hollowly and swallowed. The expression he wore was troubling. He looked like he was ashamed of himself suddenly. He’d gone white.  
“I... It doesn’t matter if you don’t understand why but I’m sorry, Mione. I’m so sorry! I.. shouldn’t have.. I.. I just needed you. I couldn’t resist it. But it was wrong. You didn’t even know.. you don’t even know now what happened. I.. I fucking raped you. I guess. No. I did. You don’t even know what’s happening right now. God!.. I’m sick. How could I do that?! After.. what you’ve been through. I’m a monster. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me to.. to..”

He got up suddenly, almost flying off the bed. 

Hermione had just discovered that she could move her arms and was inspecting them for any sign of why they’d stopped working before. When she looked up, Harry was standing next to the bed, dressed and apparently upset. 

She realised that she was lying naked on top of the duvet. And Harry was in the room. Was he upset about seeing her naked? He wasn’t supposed to be here. With a squeak she rolled off the bed and hid, fumbling around for the duvet and pulling it around herself.   
Harry seemed to actually shrink as he stood, his arms wrapped around his middle as if feeling sick. He looked inconsolable.  
When she’d concealed herself in the duvet sufficiently, she stood up nervously. He was still there, wide glassy eyes staring at her sorrowfully. 

“What’s wrong, Harry? What time is it? Why.. why did you come in here?”  
The last question made her a little nervous. Hadn’t they been..with Draco? What had happened then? 

“My mistake, Mione” Harry said dully. “I thought you were still awake. I’m sorry.. I didn’t.. mean to.. I.. didn’t look, don’t worry. I just wanted to tell you something I forgot to tell you earlier. But it can wait till tomorrow morning. I’m really sorry, ok?”

She frowned, a bit confused. What was he sorry about?  
Feeling mildly irritated, she shrugged acceptingly. “Ok. That’s alright.. I guess.”

He sighed deeply and, with a last look back, he turned on the spot and disapparated.

She watched as a tuft of black hair fell lightly to the ground, cleanly severed.

Seconds later she’d forgotten all about it. 

Eventually she managed to align her thoughts long enough to figure out that it was night.. dark.. she was naked and she should be in bed. She couldn’t remember why she’d woken up or what had possessed her to get up and wrap the duvet around herself.. but, with some halts and confused moments, she got herself back into a horizontal position with the duvet spread out over the bed.

Her body felt a bit achey and sore, she noticed vaguely as she was drifting off to sleep. It didn’t trouble her much though.. and soon she’d slipped into soft dreamless oblivion.


	16. Chapter 16

Oh god.. Her head!   
Hermione rolled groggily and buried her head under the pillow, clamping it down tight around her ears. Damnit.. what the hell.. Her head hurt..   
She wanted to go back to sleep so that she didn’t have to be aware of the throbbing stabbing ache behind her eyes but a sudden roil in her stomach propelled her out of bed on autopilot. She looked around with squinting gritty eyes for her clothes but couldn’t find them anywhere.   
In dire threat of throwing up, she grabbed the duvet from the bed and, wrapping it around herself like a cocoon, pelted from the room in the direction of the bathroom.

It was a close thing. She barely made it to the bathroom in time, tossing the door closed behind her, before she was on her knees emptying the acid contents of her digestive tract into the porcelain bowl. Several minutes passed before she felt stable enough to climb naked to her feet and go back and lock the door. 

Ugh. She felt like something had died in her mouth. 

The ancient faucets creaked when she turned them and stepped inside the shower, sighing grumpily. At least there wasn’t the five minutes of cold water that was standard in her Muggle parents house. Say what you like but the plumbing in the wizarding world was wonderful.

The shower was good. Even so, as she stood under it, letting the water run down her neck, she realised that she still felt ill and heavy and groggy. What in Godric’s name had she and Harry gotten up to last night?! 

Well, drinking, obviously. Drinking was probably heavily involved.  
She couldn’t even remember what they’d had for dinner, letalone whether she’d consumed any alcohol. Had Draco perhaps poisoned them or something?

Another horrible paranoid fear ignited within her. Swallowing, she slipped her hand hesitantly down between her legs. A telltale ache, that she had not noticed in the face of the nausea, vertigo and throbbing head, was making itself known now that she stood under the shower.   
Her fingertips grazed over tender bruised flesh.

Fuck.

She used the word rarely but felt that the situation right now warranted it.

Fuck.   
fuck fuck fuck.

She had had sex last night it seemed.

She couldn’t remember whether there had been anyone else present apart from Draco and Harry. The evening was pretty blank in her mind. Isolated flashes of Draco.. and Harry.. Harry was drinking..blood?!.. and Draco.. was kissing him?! Or something?! He was leaning down over him. She couldn’t remember.

If no one else had been there then she had to have slept with one (or oh god – what if it was both?!) of them last night. Seeing as she was suffering from missing memories and Draco had been the one to provide whatever they had consumed, he would be the likely culprit. But with his views about blood purity, she didn’t think he’d be particularly eager to be close to her.  
Which left Harry.

Which was almost worse, really.

And.. oh god.. what if she and whichever one it was hadn’t used any protection?! What if they hadn’t cast any contraceptive charm?! 

She needed to get a potion.. or the muggle morning after pill even.   
Money! She needed money!   
AAAUGH! There was no way she could just go and ask Harry for this. Draco even less – although, if it was him, surely he’d be as averse to a pregnancy as she was. But if it wasn’t him, she’d be essentially informing him that she’d somehow ended up in bed with Harry.   
No way.   
This couldn’t become common knowledge! No one could know!

She’d have to go to her parents!

NO!!! The same reasons for not going there still applied. And if she went there now and had to tell them what she needed the money for...  
Just the thought of having that discussion with them made her feel sick.  
“Oh.. I don’t remember what happened. I was at the house of a friend. Well. No. not exactly a friend. He was kind of my worst enemy for my entire time at Hogwarts. Why was I there? Oh.. I had to give him a stone block.

Something flashed in her mind. An image of the stone block on the floor. A bloodstained hole in the top. Someone was reaching into it.

What had happened?! Was there something inside that was responsible for her state this morning. It was from professor Snape. Perhaps it was a potion?  
Well.. of course it was a potion. But that didn’t mean that any of them had had any of it.

Wracking her brain she still couldn’t come up with any more about the evening than isolated confusing images. Blue lights. Casting a dark spell. Eating at a long table. Draco and Harry laughing happily. Peacocks in a cage. Books and golden light.   
She needed to find out.

Washing her hair carefully, due to the painful sloshing feeling in her head whenever she tilted it, she finished up in the shower and wrapped a towel around herself. It was awkward to carry the large folded duvet and open the door, while making sure that her towel did not slip - and when she opened the door she wished she hadn’t

Ron stood outside with his arms folded angrily.   
He took one look at her, however, and his eyes widened, jaw dropping. The one look turned into a long grope of a stare that trailed all the way down her towel-clad body and then back up. He swallowed thickly.  
“Mi- ione” he started, his voice cracking slightly and then he caught her pointedly irritated defensive posture. “I..didn’t mean to.. I mean.. I wasn’t..” He blushed dark red and then his eyebrows lowered in anger as his mind caught up with itself.   
“You need to get dressed and come down to the kitchen.” He seemed about to say more – and it was clear that, whatever it was, she wouldn’t like it – but, surprisingly, he bit it off and turned on his heel, stomping away back downstairs.

More than a little worried, she made her way back upstairs.   
What if.. what if it was Harry and he’d told Ginny about what had happened!? Did Ron know?!   
No.. she was getting ahead of herself – she didn’t know what had happened or whether it was Harry.

It was Harry her mind whispered with dreadful, hollow certainty.   
Well.. maybe he didn’t know.. Maybe it was something else! 

Not bloody likely.   
It would be Harry, Ginny and Ron building a united front down in the kitchen against the despicable temptress who’d ruined everything by not dying.   
That would be what it would amount to in the end.

She still needed to know what had happened. 

Maybe she should go back home to her parents, whatever it turned out to be.   
Whether or not it was Harry she’d slept with, staying in this house was not a good plan.   
And.. in a few months she’d be extremely wealthy. Perhaps she could even convince her parents to let her get her NEWTs.   
Surely if she explained to her father patiently for a few weeks exactly how few options were open to her in the Muggle world now, he’d eventually see reason. Better a real future in the wizarding world – where there was no longer a dangerous dark wizard waging a war against all the ‘right-thinking-masses’, than a McJob in the muggle world.

Yes. 

Perhaps that would be best.

She surveyed the clothing in the wardrobe and decided upon the dark blue high necked robe. It was warmer and today was a day that she really wished to be buttoned up to the hilt.   
Professor Snape flitted through her mind incongruently.   
Did he perhaps feel insecure and defensive? Was that the reason for his black fortress of robes?!

Shaking her head she looked around for her wand to cast a drying charm on her hair.

After ten minutes she was certain that it was nowhere to be found. It was not in under or on the bed, it wasn’t in on, under or behind the bedside tables or the desk. Nor was it in the wardrobe.

It was at Malfoy Manor. She just knew it.

 

When she slunk into the kitchen, it was to find a tense oppressive silence. She had heard angry lowered voice arguing as she was descending the stairs but it had stopped as she’d reached the landing.   
She walked in to find Harry, Ginny, Ron and Draco seated around the kitchen table, drinking tea. Harry did not look up when she came in.

It was Harry.

Draco did look up and met her eyes with a wry smirk.

Great. He knew too.

“Good Morning, Granger” he offered, sounding like someone having a great day. “I brought your wand back. It seems you left it behind last night.”   
Harry looked up, startled, and gave Draco a searching look, which the blonde did not appear to notice.

She took the proffered wand from Draco’s hand, noting the way that three pairs of eyes followed its progress across the table.

“Is that the new wand you got yesterday?” Ginny asked with barely contained aggressiveness. Clearly she’d been arguing with Harry only seconds prior to Hermione’s entrance.   
“What kind did you end up with?”

“Er.. that’s a bit rude, don’t you think, Gin?!” Harry said quietly, trying to be diplomatic. Draco was looking at the redheaded girl, appalled. It was not done to ask another witch or wizard about their wand – it was fine if they brought it up, and it didn’t matter much when you were very young, but asking an adult wizard about their wand or wandcore was like asking them what kind of underwear they wore. It was simply socially unacceptable.

Ginny was not interested in social niceties this morning.

“No, Harry, I don’t think it’s a bit rude. We’re all friends. Hermione knows that I had an eight and a half inch Holly wand with a core of unicorn hair. 

“Had.. Ginny.” Harry pointed out, causing the girl to scowl. “You’ve had a new wand for over a month now! You didn’t even tell me about what its made of, so why should Hermione tell us all about her wand!?” he glanced at her fleetingly before lowering his eyes again. “Don’t worry about it, Mione. Just sit down and have some breakfast.”

“Alright – I’ll tell you about my wand if she tells us all about hers!” Ginny continued peevishly. Ron nodded, also curious to learn what her new wand was made of. The suspicion on his face made it clear that he probably already expected her to have something dark.   
There was no need to go ahead and confirm that for him.

“No thank you” she replied lightly and poured herself a cup of tea. “So.. What’s up?”

Glances were shared around the table. 

Before anyone else could say something, Draco spoke up again, obviously deriving enormous pleasure from the drama playing out around him.   
“You were in the prophet, Granger. You made the front page.   
Well... I say you.. but really it was you and Harry.”

He reached around for the paper that Harry had apparently hidden behind his chair and tossed it across the table to her.   
It landed open in front of her. The title jumped out at her in accusingly large letters

“HERMIONE GRANGER – SCARLET WOMAN AND PROBABLE DEATH EATER – RETURNS TO TEAR ASUNDER GOLDEN SOUL MATES?”

The picture below it set her to fuming immediately.   
Someone had been in Gringotts. The picture showed Harry crying on her shoulder. However from the angle that the picture had been snapped it looked as if Harry were ravishing her up against a random wall while she looked over his shoulder guiltily biting her lip.

She snorted in disgust and looked around the table.

“That horrible woman! I should have squashed her when I had the chance! Is this what everyone is upset about?! Harry – you told them that you were only upset about Hagrid, right?”  
Harry was nodding, but looked tired and rolled his eyes.

“I said that. It’s obvious that the whole article is rubbish. Skeeter has hated you from day one. I’m going to have her job for this.”

“That’s not the point, Harry” Ginny hissed furiously. “the point is that no one else except us knows that it’s all not true. Everyone in the wizarding world will be thinking that you’ve been having an affair with her behind my back!   
Harry! You have to make it clear to everyone that you aren’t If they don’t know she’s living here, they will soon.” Ginny looked up at Hermione. “You have to go back to your parents! Or stay with Draco or something! He’s offered. You’d be fine there. But.. you can’t stay here! Hermione – look at this. It’s been one day! If you have any concern for anyone but yourself you won’t put us through this!”

Harry looked like he was going to be sick. She felt pretty ill herself. How could Ginny do that?! Just unilaterally kick her out! 

“Ginny..” Harry started but Ginny held up a hand imperiously “NO, Harry. This is our life! This is our child’s life. Do you want to have to explain one day why their father betrayed their mother? This is in the papers. Everyone will talk about it – someone is going to mention it eventually. It has to go away now. Make Skeeter write a retraction and apology and make damn sure that you aren’t photographed with Hermione again. She has to go! I mean it! Or I’ll leave!”

Harry’s expression went blank for a moment before it crumpled into agonised disorder. He pushed his chair back from the table with a screech and got up. “I have to think. Give me a minute..” he muttered, moving toward the door.

“HARRY!!” Ginny screamed, furious. She’d clearly expected him to cave immediately. 

“No. Ginny. Give me a minute.” He tossed back tightly and was gone.

The glare that Ginny gave her made her squirm. She lowered her head to avoid it and went back to the article.   
The contents were actually worse than the seemingly incriminating picture, if that was even possible. Rita had played on the fact that she’d been quite well when she’d been seen on the street – unharmed by her time spent with you-know-who. She’d been protected from speaking with aurors although they’d been strenuously pursuing her for questioning, she’d purchased a new wand – was her old one incriminating evidence of her murderous debauchery?! The entire article went on like that.. She’d attached herself to Harry from the moment of her return and hadn’t let go of his arm the entire time that she was in public. She’d flirted and batted her eyelids at him, uncaring that he had a young pregnant fiancé that he loved – a young witch who was actually a true hero of the wizarding world – who had fought to destroy He who must not be named.  
Hermione sniffed at that. Since she had technically been the one to single-handedly kill Voldemort – it was a bit bold to say that Ginny had done more than her.

“Granger..” 

Draco caught her eye. His own silvery gaze did not waver. 

“Might we speak in private?”

Ron bristled and sat up a bit, looking between them both suspiciously. Hermione realised she’d actually almost forgotten that he was there. He’d been uncharacteristically silent and non-demonstrative.   
“What do you want, Malfoy?!” he growled now. 

Draco smiled thinly. “Have you changed your name, Weasley?!.. I was talking to Granger. What we have to discuss doesn’t concern you. I’m sure if you summon the elf, he can bring you another trough of bacon and eggs to keep you busy. Granger? Shall we?”  
He stood and moved out from the table elegantly, sliding the chair back into place silently. Both Ginny and Ron were sputtering in affronted rage. Hermione hid her smirk. 

“If you like” she said with a shrug, following him out of the room without looking back.   
She felt no guilt for it. Ginny had essentially just booted her out without a second thought and Ron.. well.. Ok.. she knew she probably should feel a little guilty for treating Ron badly – but he did eat like a pig, he shouldn’t have interrupted a question meant for someone else and he was being utterly gittish in general since she’d turned him down. (Which she could understand to a certain extent, but didn’t enjoy experiencing)

Draco led her down the hall into the small Black-family library.

He strode in and held the door, closing it quietly after her, and paused for a moment before turning and offering her a small friendly smile.   
It contained almost no sneer percentage at all!   
She was shocked and he must have seen it since he smirked then and shook his head slightly.   
“Oh come on.. meet me halfway, Granger! I’m not perfect but I’m not as bad as you seem to think.”

He glided smoothly closer and gestured toward the chairs by the fire. “Shall we sit?” he enquired politely.   
Hermione was still on the defensive and so gave him a noncommittal little shrug again, not moving an inch.

“Did you sleep well?” Draco asked then, ignoring her rudeness.   
She narrowed her eyes.   
It could have been nothing more than a polite question. 

“Not particularly” she answered. “Whatever you poisoned me with yesterday didn’t agree with my system.”

Draco looked genuinely surprised. Hurt, even!   
“What are you talking about?! Poisoned!? I didn’t poison you! You were fine when you left with Harry.”

He seemed to pause for a moment and lowered his brows in slight pensive indecision.  
“Well.. Perhaps not fine. You were well into your cups. And you were all over Harry... but you weren’t ill. And you certainly were not poisoned. Each alcoholic drink you consumed – you accepted willingly. Some you even asked for. Admittedly, in the beginning you informed us that you were unaccustomed to alcohol and therefore did not wish to drink, however neither Harry nor myself forced you to drink either. You changed your mind of your own accord. Harry was prepared to leave early since you didn’t seem to want to remain – but you changed your mind, and so you both stayed and chatted and drank far too much too quickly. Even had you not left your wand on the floor of my Library, I might have come by this morning to make certain you were well.”

The look of honest concern was too much. She narrowed her eyes sceptically   
“I don’t believe you” she gritted out softly. “And your concern for my welfare must be some kind of recent anomaly. Since I’ve known you, you’ve been solely concerned with hurting me. Whatever you did to us last night fits that pattern perfectly!”

“Granger.. I did nothing to you last night. ...Ok.. I probably shouldn’t have allowed you to leave with Harry in the state he was in.. but I couldn’t very well prevent you both from departing, could I?! I’m sure that would have gone down wonderfully when you woke up and thought that I’d imprisoned you.”

“What happened last night then?” she asked, not entirely certain now whether Draco might not be telling the truth. Perhaps it was just alcohol. She really didn’t drink much and people were known to black out while drinking to excess. 

The tiny flicker of wariness in his eye was troubling. “What do you remember?” he asked carefully.   
At her glare he swallowed and chuckled weakly “That much then?!.. Well.. Harry brought you to the Manor upon barely a half hour’s notice. We all dined together – it was a venison dish with a side salad that included pomegranate seeds as a component – which you had not before experienced and seemed to enjoy.”

Hermione couldn’t remember anything about pomegranate seeds at all.. Was it normal to have a black out from drinking alcohol that also obliterated several hours prior to drinking!? That seemed more than a little odd to her. She’d have to look into it. At present however she was at least 80% confident that it was more likely the work of a potion.

“We spoke together about the ministry..” Draco continued. “-about Hogwarts reconstruction efforts and about.. well.. we gossiped somewhat. After dinner we retired to the library for a quiet drink. You were very taken with my library. The elves were able to clean the drool from the floor though, you’ll be happy to know.” He sneered slightly and she could just see the horrid little slicked-hair ferret in him again.   
“The quiet drink became several quiet drinks. It seemed to me that you were bothered by Harry’s preferred drink of choice, which happens to be red rum.”

Something flickered up in her mind. Yes. Red rum was a drink made with dragons blood. Harry was drinking blood. Warm blood. It was repulsive.

“You were drinking vodka, mainly. At some point I recalled the inheritance you had brought for me from my Godfather and managed to open it. It contained a bottle of ocra.”

This too sounded faintly familiar. She furrowed her brow trying to catch the thought but it had fluttered away the moment the familiarity had flared. 

“Being the spirit of generosity that I am – I offered Potter and yourself a very small taste of Ocra. He accepted. You declined. He spent the next hour talking rubbish about fairies and the moon in the fire – “

She caught that faint tail of familiarity again for a moment and shook her head slightly.

“-While you and I spoke about our families. I shared with you an embarrassing anecdote from my childhood – Perhaps you might recall something of it? I broke a vase while in the house of the Minister of Magic?”

She tried to think. It was so hard to remember.   
“I... I don’t know. Maybe?! Something.. something about dust or dirt or..”

“Ash” Draco nodded. “it was an urn. Yes. And then sometime after that Harry started to become more lucid and..” he paused, seemingly uncertainly, and bit the corner of his lip in a way that she found almost endearing.  
“I don’t know whether I should tell you, if you don’t know. But.. I’ve a feeling that things may become unpleasant here shortly and if you don’t know you’ll be entirely unarmed.”  
He fixed her with an earnest ‘listen carefully’ expression.  
“Last night.. after Harry started to make more sense again.. he.. well he was rather negative about Ginevra and his current life.   
...He expressed to you that he wished that you were in her place.   
I was retrieving another round of drinks for us all and only caught the tail end. I did try to remind him of his obligations.. and of how unwise such a statement was.   
And then you kissed him, Granger. From that point I may as well have been a ghost.   
When I tried to intervene - I placed my hand on your shoulder as you were attempting to climb onto his lap – he leapt up and struck me.”

Draco drew his wand and waved it lightly, dispelling a glamour and exposing a dark purplish bruise extending from his eye down onto his cheekbone. His face looked slightly puffy. Hermione gasped and swallowed, her heart beating faster. This was serious.   
“Oh my god. Draco! That’s terrible! Why haven’t you-”

He re-glamoured the bruise at once.  
“I didn’t heal it because I thought it might be necessary to show one or both of you, but then Harry dragged me aside when I arrived here this morning and threatened me. He told me to stay away from you.   
The way in which he said it...I have the feeling that there will shortly be problems between he and Ginevra – and the blame is likely to be cast upon you. Granger..   
I know that you were beyond drunk. It’s clear from the fact that you don’t even remember what occurred yesterday night – but.. I don’t think he was that far gone.   
From the way he acted this morning I’m almost certain that he remembered at least some of what happened. The important parts at least.   
I don’t know what happened after you both left but..well.. from his behaviour..I gather..” Draco swallowed nervously and avoided her eyes. He recovered again a moment later and explained in a quiet serious voice. “The point is – the reason I brought you in here to talk to you - Granger.. You can’t stay here!” 

She stepped back and turned away, wrapping her arms around herself. Think – she chided herself. Think! If that’s all true and Harry has just been given an ultimatum by Ginny – either she goes or I go - this really could get messy.   
How did it even happen, she wondered unhappily. She didn’t even want Harry. This was awful. Truly awful. 

“Come with me, Granger” Draco’s voice was almost unrecognisable. A Malfoy would never emit such a plaintive tone. She glanced back at him and found that his expression matched his tone perfectly. He was holding one hand out to her as if she might take it and run away with him.  
“.. You can stay at the manor. I’ll leave you completely in peace if you want. You’ll be safe!   
If you stay here.. I don’t know what will happen.   
You have to think rationally. You are in a very precarious position with the ministry right now. The aurors are desperate to question you and the only thing holding them off is Harry’s whim. If he is tarred publically and portrayed as what amounts to an adulterer and betrayer of a pregnant witch, his image as the saviour of the wizarding world will be tarnished. They’ll take you! If this all goes to hell – you and I know that you could end up in Azkaban! Come away now, before it’s too late. Give all this time to heal over. You can- ”

“Why do you care?!” she spat suddenly, honestly wondering. There had to be an angle in it for him somewhere. Draco Malfoy was not an altruist. Not ever. 

He gritted his teeth and turned away. “It doesn’t matter. I’m offering you what you need. You have to say yes!”

“But why?! WHY are you offering to help me?! You weren’t exactly merciful the last time we met before everything ended!”

He growled and threw his head back in frustration. “Do you have to keep mentioning that?! Fuck! What other option did I have?! He made it very clear that that was what he wanted me to do! Did you disobey him much!? I’m sure you saw what he did to people who displeased him. That’s really why i’m helping you, you know..”  
He seemed to cringe slightly and turned away.  
“Granger.. I’m helping you because.. because I need you.” It was said between his teeth and sounded like it had cost a lot to verbalise.

“You’re the only one I might be able to ..talk to..about everything. The only one who might understand..some of it. I can’t let anyone else know. Least of all Potter. We’re all friends now, you understand? That means that I was officially a good guy all along in his eyes. He doesn’t know about.. about..”  
Draco stilled and folded his arms tightly.

“I’m not asking for much, Granger. I’ll keep you safe.. and.. and you can keep me ...sane.   
I.. I have dreams.. about them..   
Do you understand? I can’t forget their faces.. their..s-screams..” 

She did understand.. even if she didn’t suffer from the same problem.  
For a moment she considered whether everything he had said might have been the truth. 

At that point, the door opened quietly. She didn’t even need to glance over at it to know that it was Harry. it was obvious a moment later when his angry voice rang out as he stormed in and pushed Draco.

“Malfoy!.. I warned you this morning to stay the fuck away from her! She’s not interested! Mione – are you alright? Did he do anything?”

And that convinced her. 

“I’m fine Harry” she said lightly as she turned. His eyes skidded away before they could meet her own. “Draco was just apologising for last night. It seems we all had a bit much to drink.” She caught the slight guilty flush on his cheeks and took a deep breath.  
“Look.. I’ve been thinking – maybe Ginny’s right. It’s probably better if I don’t stay with you for the moment. It doesn’t look good and it’s not good for her to be under so much stress in her condition. I’m ..i’m just going to go and stay with my parents for a while, ok? I’ll write to you both and-“

“What?!!”  
“NO!!”

Their voices rang out together and they each launched into reasoning why she shouldn’t go back to her parents in the muggle world. She couldn’t actually make out any of the arguments and neither of them, she was certain, was at all interested in the thoughts of the other. Eventually she held up a hand and they stilled, although they both looked upset.

“I can’t stay here. And..though Draco has invited me to stay at Malfoy manor – I’m guessing you’d be bothered by that, Harry.

“You can’t trust him, Mione – he.. he was trying it on last night. I had to actually hit him to get him to leave you alone.” He sounded so sure. She raised an eyebrow at Draco who shook his head subtly.

“Well then. It’s probably better that I go back to my parents for a while. I’m sure it won’t be too long. You’ll see!”

“No”   
Draco sounded petulant “I don’t want you to go back there. I’ve had eyes on your parent’s almost since you disappeared and my most recent information suggests they’re going to have you subjected to muggle psychological assessment. They’ll lock you up, Granger. I don’t know what that would be like – I guess it wouldn’t be as bad as Azkaban if you stay here – but why go through that when you can stay in the wizarding world and study toward your NEWTs.   
I’ll.. I’ll give you an apartment.. or a house.. if you like. You don’t have to live in the Manor. You can stay in London and study!”

“You’ve had eyes on my parents?! What does that even mean?!” she spat, appalled.

“Why would she go to Azkaban?!” Harry demanded, equally appalled.

Draco seemed to see the error of his ways and backed it into reverse. “Yes. Eyes. I’ve had people watching them. Making sure they were safe – don’t overreact. I assure you, they weren’t the only ones. Having money can be useful. I used my small funds to watch the families of most of the witches and wizards I know. It’s always good to know what is happening before others do.   
And Harry – or should I call you Potter again now, since you seem to be back to calling me Malfoy – The ministry has sent a lot of people to Azkaban on very little evidence. Take your Godfather for instance. If your image is ruined through this scandal – they’ll interrogate her and probably ship her off to Azkaban purely for surviving unscathed.”

He turned silver eyes on Hermione again “So.. let me help you. It’s nothing to me to keep you. You can’t begin to imagine how much I am worth right now. Let me do this. I.. I owe you.”   
Forestalling the next question he looked at Harry and spat “I cursed her, alright?! You want to know why I’m so interested in her? I hurt her.   
He gave me the option.. I knew he wanted me to and so I did. I used the cruciatus on her. I could have refused.. and he’d have cursed me instead, but he’d already held me under the crucio for minutes and I just..I just couldn’t face it. I’m sorry. I cursed her! I regret it but there you go. Satisfied?!”   
He dropped his head and massaged his forehead with one hand, seeming quite troubled.

Hermione wasn’t sure what to think. He’d just told Harry about it, which meant she could never hold it over him again. And the way he’d explained it – Harry would probably defend him for it to others too now.   
Well drat.

Harry seemed nonplussed and short for words. He just looked between them both with deep uncertainty written all over his face.   
“Hermione.. I..I need to speak to you alone” he said softly.

Draco was alert and angry again at once. “No. I know what you’re about, Potter and I won’t let you do it. You can’t talk everyone into letting you string her along. Whatever happened last night – it was a mistake and no one but we three know about it. So you’re going to let her go! You’re going to marry your Weasley and raise your little weasel brat and let her live her own life because if you drag her down this road, she’s going to end up in Azkaban. The Weasleys may not be the quickest but they’re definitely nasty enough to lash out publically and I don’t have the power in the ministry right now to stop it from happening once it starts.”

If Draco had walked up to him and slapped him, Harry couldn’t have looked more horror-struck.

“I wasn’t going to.. I wouldn’t..” he fumbled. “Mione.. You know I’d never..” His face cracked then. “I’m so sorry!” he blurted. “I didn’t mean to! I thought.. I thought..that you..”  
Seeing no understanding in her expression his eyes drifted down again.  
“He’s ..probably right” he conceded. “I’ll do you more harm than good if you stay here. But.. but I don’t want you liv.. I.. fuck..” he said with feeling. “I can’t give her a house or an apartment, can I?!”

Draco snorted. “Not unless you want Skeeter announcing to the world that you’re putting your mistress up before the vows are even spoken. There’s a certain.. order to things in the wizarding world. Its not exactly frowned upon to have a mistress.. but not within the first two years of marriage – and thats even assuming Granger wants that. I don’t think she does.

Feeling cruel, she shook her head at them both. “I’m sorry Harry. I don’t even remember what happened last night. I’m... i’m not looking for this. Yes.. A long time ago I was in love with you.. but so much has happened since. I’m not that person anymore. I.. I just.. No.”

She ignored the slightly smug air about Draco and the way Harry seemed to wilt slightly.

“I’ll accept your help, Draco if we can consider it a loan. I will owe you the cost of the apartment and I’ll buy it off you as soon as I have enough galleons. Is that ok?”

Draco snorted. “No. It’s ludicrous. You’re penniless, Granger and you want to have a debt hanging over your head. I don’t see why you can’t stay at the Manor. It’s safer.”

“No! You can’t stay there with him. Look.. Ok. I can’t be there for you.. and Draco says he wants to help you.. but.. but.. you can’t stay there with him.”

She rolled her eyes at Harry’s outburst again. “I know Harry. And If they’re already talking about me staying here, it will probably get worse if I stay with Draco. It wouldn’t be fair. Draco’s trying to clear his name. He doesn’t need the attention either.” She observed the dubious expression the blonde was wearing and entreated him again. “ Look.. if you loan me the money for an apartment – I promise i’ll pay it back.”

“No.. No you don’t have to. As I said – I don’t need it. We’ll go today and pick a place out for you.”

“HARRY!!”

Both boys groaned under their breaths at the sound of Ginny approaching.

“Make that now. We’ll go right now and pick out a place, alright, Granger?” Draco hissed

The severely pissed off redhead stomped into the room and pulled a face. “Should’ve known I’d find you with Hermione. Listen Harry – if you want to throw everything away, I can’t stop you. I just came to tell you that Ron and I are going home to the Burrow. Bill is coming by in an hour to help me move. When you’re ready to talk, you know where to find me.”  
with a snitty little sniff she about turned and thumped out of the room again.

A thunderstruck Harry offered Hermione and Draco a hurried apologetic glance. He didn’t need to say anything. It was clear that he was on the brink of running out of the room to catch Ginny.  
“I’ll talk to you another time Harry” Hermione said quietly, wondering whether she would. “You’d better go and fix everything again. Tell her she doesn’t have to worry. We won’t be seen in public together. It’s probably better if we don’t talk for a while. It’s just going to make it harder for everyone.

“no, Mione!.. That’s not how it is at all. Don’t! You don’t understand what it’s been like – I can’t lose you again. We’ll manage somehow. I’ll talk to Ginny. She’ll just have to cope. I don’t think she’s upset enough to really risk the bloody fame of being Mrs Ginevra Potter..” it sounded bitter. “I’m not throwing away our friendship.. after everything.. over Ginny’s temper and ..and one mistake.”

She could see the familiar determination on his face and knew there would be little point in arguing. 

“Sure. Ok. Well.. We’ll see. She said noncommittally. With a pointed glance at Draco she continued “We’d better go now. No time like the present and all.”

 

 

It was easier to talk to Draco than she’d imagined it would be. Obviously he was making a real effort not to be a prat, and his success was considerable enough that she actually felt relatively comfortable by the time they were viewing the fourth apartment. 

Turned out, it was very easy to get an apartment when you had money. One simply called the family procurement specialist and informed them as to exactly what was required. Results were forthcoming within the hour.   
They had sat in a muggle café while the wizard in question had compiled a list of appropriate domiciles and arranged to acquire the keys in preparation for viewing. The Malfoy name still seemed to move all areas of the wizarding world to snap to attention. 

After a discussion about exactly what she needed and what she might like.. Draco was looking for a re-scalable two bedroom apartment with a kitchen, lounge, bathroom and ensuite and a balcony view over something green. Hermione hadn’t the faintest idea what something like that would cost in London, but from the wry smirk Draco had given her, she thought it might be quite expensive. 

The first three places had been lovely too. She had had nothing whatsoever against any of them so far. It was Draco who seemed to be picky. The first place had too many nosy neighbours apparently and the security in the building was lax. The second apartment was in a magically secured building however the balcony was very small and the view was over someone else’s back garden. The third place had had a long dark entryway which Draco didn’t like the look of and then there was a strange stain on the bedroom floor. 

The fourth place, which they were now entering, was doing well so far. The building was a grey stone five story across from a small park in a quiet street. The wards extended several metres out past the building and they passed three before they entered the foyer, in which an elderly elf popped up the moment they entered. It took their information and, with what was, according to Draco, a sufficiently suspicious glare, allowed them passage into the entrance box. 

Hermione had never been in magical apartment buildings before today and she was still marvelling at the concept of the entrance box. Of the three apartments they’d already viewed, only the second had had one and it had been smaller and less ornate than this one. This was virtually an entrance room. 

The concept was simple. Someone in the wizarding world had obviously thought at some point ‘I don’t like the idea of strangers wandering around my door and inspecting my wards’ .. or perhaps they’d just thought – ‘my, my, what a waste of space all of these corridors and stairs are’ – either way, what they’d come up with was the entrance box.   
Although most witches and wizards would apparate or floo directly into their apartments, there were occasionally times in which one needed to receive guests at a door.   
In a magically secured building that possessed such an artifice, the apartments were essentially stacked areas without any intervening corridor space. They could only be accessed from the street through the single monitored entrance box under elf control. Those who were allowed entrance could step inside the box, say the name of the apartment they wished to contact and the door in the back wall of the box would then connect to that apartment in a manner not dissimilar to the floo network, allowing the entrance into any apartment directly from the foyer. Provided one possessed the key, which could really be any object at all and was in this case a small silver ring, one could open the door. 

Draco pressed the ring to the door of apartment fourteen, which was located on the second floor streetside. The door emitted a click and he opened it, stepping in before her with drawn wand and looking around cautiously. When she followed him in, it was with a gasp of delight.   
The apartment had obviously been magically enlarged. It was palacial in dimensions. Draco seemed pleased too. 

“This is more like it” he muttered. “I was beginning to doubt Jankers abilities.” 

Hermione scuffed in over the polished wooden floor and was reprimanded absently. 

The windows.. They were huge. And they didn’t show the park at all. It had been quite a nice little park – but the windows were looking out over vast rolling hills. It couldn’t have been too far away from where they were since the light seemed to be roughly equivalent to that they’d experienced outside before stepping into the building.   
It was beautiful though..

“I can’t possibly live here” she murmured. To an empty room it turned out since Draco had stalked off in the direction of the bedrooms. 

“Granger.. come and look at this.”   
She was instantly suspicious. He sounded smug again. Nevertheless, her trainers scuffing only slightly on the shiny boards, she headed in the direction of Draco’s voice. 

The bedroom was far too large to be a bedroom. It was larger than her parents’ living room at home. High ceilinged and white, it looked like a blank canvas. But that was not what Draco was calling her to look at. She stopped dead when she saw it.   
He was standing on the balcony. A slight wind was ruffling his hair.   
She could smell the salt. 

Like a puppet, she walked toward the large open doors onto the balcony and then, when she’d stepped outside, she could hear it too. The soft hush of waves. The deep blue of the Mediterranean.   
“Oh my god” she whispered “How?! Its.. it’s not possible.”

Draco smirked. “It’s not legal at least. I know that. He rummaged around in his pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper. Transfiguring it into a stone, he tossed it out over the edge of the balcony.

There was a faint splish.

“We’re.. we’re really here. Wherever this is. We’re actually here! It’s not just an illusion!” She felt somehow panicked by this. Had she left the country?! Would the ministry have registered it? Was this going to get her in trouble?!  
“No! No I can’t live here. Draco.. come on.. we have to go. This is almost certainly breaking half a dozen laws. We don’t want to-“

“Granger!” he huffed exasperatedly. “Calm down. It’s fine. We’re just viewing an apartment. We didn’t put this here. For all I know it’s installed with permit. I can find out”

“No! No.. its too much anyway. This.. this place isn’t me. I can’t live somewhere like this. Come on. Please Draco. Let’s go!”

He looked at her sadly, the seabreeze catching his pale blonde hair and making it shimmer.   
“If you’ll stay at the Manor with me.. I’ll..give you a cage...if you want.”

She stopped still and felt the sudden urge to be sick.   
He knew. He knew how she felt. How did he know?! No one could know about that.   
“What are you talking about” she said lightly. “Don’t be cruel. Come on. Let’s go to the next one”   
She avoided his gaze and walked back into the bedroom, hurrying back toward the lounge and from there out of this palace of an apartment. It was too bright. Too large.. Too open. 

Draco caught her arm in the door way and spun her around, pressing her against the beam of the doorframe.

“I..” he started and then rethought whatever he was going to say. He amended it to a question. “Was it cruel because after being in that damned box for so long you’d rather die than be there again.. or because you know you can never go back? Do you regret it, Granger? Do you feel at odds with everything out here?!.. You act like you do. You act like someone who can’t stand to see the world anymore. It’s in the way you carry yourself.. the way you avoid..touching..things.”

She wrenched at her arm, trying to free it but he was holding it tightly.   
Harry was right! Harry was right! Her mind screamed the warning that Draco was standing far too close and that Slytherins never help others without wanting something in return.

“You need to tell me.. Is that really what you want?” he ground out. “Because if it is – I’m wasting my time since none of these apartments will have it. We’re not looking for a cage in the dark here. They’ll all be bright and large with attractive outlook.”

She shook her head frantically. “No. its.. it’s fine. That’s what I want. Not.. not a.. a..”

“Cage” he supplied quietly and the word was so dark in the bright room. She nodded, swallowing the thick lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat. It was on the tip of her tongue to say “please don’t touch me.”  
It wasn’t necessary, he let go of her a moment later and stepped back.

“If you don’t like the portal spell – I can see that it’s removed. This is a pretty nice place though. Give it a chance.. Look around the rest of it at least. I saw how you looked at that dark and dingy hallway in the last place. If that’s what you’re hoping for, you can think again. I’m not going to let you take an apartment that I wouldn’t be willing to at least spend the night in.”

Seeing her horrified O – he added quickly “On the couch, Granger. Or at least.. in the spare bedroom. Calm down.” 

She shook her head slightly and continued to look over his shoulder, while fumbling for her wand.

“If you continue to reach for that wand, Mudblood, your life is going to be a few minutes shorter than it otherwise might be” The soft dangerous voice warned from across the room behind Draco.   
“Malfoy – you traitorous little bastard! Did you think you could get away with betraying our Lord.. betraying your brothers.. and walking away?!”   
The venom in the voice was unmistakeable. This was a man with murder on his mind.  
“Turn around. Look at me. I want to see your eyes!”

Draco stiffened and Hermione could see a tiny bead of sweat form at his hairline. Although his face was set and his eyes didn’t waver, she could almost feel the adrenalin suddenly pouring off him. He held his hands out from his body slightly and splayed his fingers, indicating that he was unarmed.  
“Chaldean.. You don’t know the whole picture” he growled. “You’re out of line. Lower your wand!”

“Shut the fuck up, Malfoy, you foppish little worm. And turn around!”

Draco seemed to wince slightly and slowly began to turn. “How did you find us here?!”

“Isn’t that obvious?! Good help is so hard to find these days. Turns out that Renquis Jankers preferred not to lose all three of his darling little brats rather than give up your itinerary today. It was clear that sooner or later you had to leave your bloody palace. I’ve been...babysitting... for him for bloody weeks just waiting for you to grow a pair and show your face.”

Hermione tried to feel horror. She really did. It was terrible. Children had probably been killed.   
But really.. there was just the numbness.   
Her hand holding her wand slid an inch higher in her pocket.

Draco had moved subtly in front of her. She appreciated the sentiment on several levels. It was.. touching that he’d try to protect her but primarily it was useful because it shadowed her from view of the man she knew as ‘Bromley’. That was what Voldemort had called him. He was a mid level death eater, as far as she was concerned. He’d often been sent to retrieve things – usually people. He was quite good at what he did, in that he’d hardly ever been punished. 

She didn’t feel much for him at all really.   
Definitely not as much as she’d felt for Mrs Weasley or Luna. 

When she’d withdrawn her wand from her pocket subtly and angled the tip of it past Draco’s waist, she didn’t even need to whisper the ‘Praevextra’. Bromley simply dropped like a stone and shook for a minute while Draco, somewhat confused by this unexpected development, cast a diagnostic spell upon him.

Voldemort was right, she mused to herself as she closed her eyes and enjoyed the amazing rush flooding her body. It was so much better with will and desire.

“He’s dead” Draco confirmed unnecessarily. Hermione already knew that. The spell was pretty much guaranteed to kill him. She opened her eyes and looked into Draco’s silvery ones. His expression was unreadable. She really couldn’t tell what he thought about it.   
“There’s no way we are dealing with the Ministry over this” he suddenly snorted aggressively. “Tell me you’re not planning on calling anyone to confess.”

In answer she pointed her wand at the still form of Bromley.. or Chaldean or whoever he was and incanted softly “ustilo”.   
The corpse burst into incandescent light and incinerated itself in a few seconds. She used a common cleaning charm to collect up every particle of ash and transported it neatly to the balcony, where it was tipped into the ocean unceremoniously.

When she turned back, she found Draco casting other charms.. charms she didn’t know. 

“What are you doing?”

He gave her the unreadable look again and then smiled wanly. “Covering your tracks. In case you hadn’t realised, Granger – when you kill magically, there are more than physical traces.   
Any auror, if they were to know the right place to look and the right spell to use, could have replayed your actions here.. could have even learned which wand cast the spells.   
Now.. they can’t.   
Nothing happened here. Nothing at all.   
Come on. I’ve had enough of apartment hunting. We’re returning home for the day. I need to see about hiring a new procurement wizard. The other places on the list aren’t safe to visit right now.”

“Home?” she enquired disingenuously.

“Home.” Draco growled snappishly. “As in that conveniently luxurious unplottable manor I happen to have with the nine hundred year old wards and selectively accessible floo. Also featuring hot baths and expansive library.   
Give me a break, Granger. You just killed someone. Fuck.. Someone was just about to kill me. Don’t tell me you’re so worried about what Potter thinks I might do to you – the same Potter, I might add, who apparently dragged a blind drunk witch into bed last night – that you refuse to sleep in a warded room half a mile away from me!”

When he put it that way...

She sighed and nodded. “let’s go then.  
But this is temporary” she added firmly. The reasons why it was a bad idea to stay in Malfoy Manor with Draco still applied. Admittedly she didn’t want to go back to her parents if it meant possibly being locked in a psychiatric ward.. and she really couldn’t go to Harry at the moment.. so technically, she conceded that she was entirely reliant upon Draco’s good will now..

But he’d already said that he’d find her an apartment. He knew she couldn’t stay in the Manor. It wouldn’t look good for either of them... and he had said he was working to clear his reputation.

Somehow the contented little smirk he wore as he led her to the apparition point in the foyer was not at all encouraging.   
She had the strong impression that he was quietly revelling in a victory.


	17. Chapter 17

Hermione had been expecting an entrance hall of some kind, perhaps even a dedicated apparition chamber, but the room that snapped into being around them both dizzyingly was dimmer, clad mainly in leather and polished wood rather than blinding white marble. It was a small and strangely cosy study of some kind, its walls lined in bookshelves and faintly moving oil landscapes. Draco released her arm at once and stalked off in the direction of a dark glossy lacquer side cabinet with gold corners. As she turned on the spot, taking in her environment more fully, she could hear the faint shivery clink of ice cubes against glass and gurgly slosh of liquid being poured unsteadily. Her eye fell upon a massive painting of a forest glade. It was so realistic, the wind ruffling the leaves slightly, rays of sun dappling the grass – she could almost imagine stepping inside the image. 

“Granger..”

She jumped at the nearness of the voice and turned defensively, almost upturning the glass that Draco was offering her. He reacted quickly enough to pull it back out of range and it merely splashed over his hand. The irritated pull of his eyebrows was almost entirely sublimated beneath a patient, understanding facade. 

“No!.. I.. I mean - no thank you! I don’t want that.” She frowned at the idea of drinking.. whatever that was – it looked suspiciously like firewhisky – in the mid-afternoon. Particularly not after what had apparently happened last night when she had been drinking. 

Draco’s lips thinned, his eyes narrowing slightly in speculation as he looked her over.  
“I’m surprised you’re so blasé about killing an unknown wizard. It was one thing after you.. that is - after the Dark Lord was killed.. but...”  
His breath caught and Hermione had the strange impression of something like comprehension lighting up behind the sharp grey eyes; comprehension tinged with avaricious relish  
“ ..This isn’t the first time you’ve killed someone, is it?!” he said slowly with grim conviction. “I thought you were shaken and hysterical in the cage because you had killed for the first time..”  
Draco trailed off and his brows furled slightly as if he had thought of something else now that disturbed him.  
“but maybe that wasn’t the reason...” he finished in a preoccupied tone, his eyes distant as his mind obviously continued to follow whatever strange trail of cognition was perturbing him

Hermione stiffened and looked away, her mind whirling to come up with a reassuring empty answer that might stop the blond from thinking too much about that night. Draco might be offering her help right now but that was an anomaly. As long as she’d known him, he’d been a threat, or at best – an annoyance. Sharing something that might be used against her was not a good idea. Allowing Draco to know about what she had done at Lord Voldemort’s command would be insanely stupid... -not to mention what she had done more or less by choice with the Dark Lord himself.   
Could anyone possibly understand that? 

“Firstly – Bromley was not an unknown wizard” she started in a tone that she had once employed to lecture Harry and Ron “– I’ve seen him before many times while I was...” she halted, fumbling for a descriptor that would give the right kind of impression, but unsure entirely what the right impression might be right now when Draco Malfoy was examining her so carefully and had actually implicitly acknowledged that they both shared the secret of what she had done – namely that Harry Potter, the saviour of the wizarding world had in fact not vanquished the Dark Lord, because his mudblooded friend had had that singular honour. She hardly wanted to bring up the cage again. She didn’t want to go back into a cage at Malfoy’s hand, and that had certainly seemed to be what he was offering before Bromley had interrupted them and threatened their lives. It was..   
Well.. it wasn’t exactly untrue that she missed the cage, she conceded to herself very reluctantly, although it wasn’t the cage that she really missed – however it was insulting to point it out as if she were some kind of Stockholm syndrome sufferer..   
...and that thought was far, far too close to the truth for comfort. She cautioned herself to stop thinking before she made herself upset.  
“When I was..there..” she finished somewhat stiltedly.   
“I was perfectly aware of his capabilities, Draco. If he said he was going to kill us – he would have tried to do just that...Besides - my not wanting to drink..whatever that is.. has nothing to do with what just happened and everything to do with what happened this morning. Clearly, if last night’s events are to be believed – I really ought not to drink at all in future.” She congratulated herself on steering the conversation back to safer areas.  
Well... comparatively safer.

“Yes..” Draco frowned uncertainly. “Of course you’d have seen him before. I didn’t think.. You were in the cage for so long that it seemed like you were part of the furniture – it was easy to forget you were there.   
Still... you don’t even look too shaken. You just.. without a flicker of hesitation...   
I mean... I rather thought that a stiff drink might be welcome under these particular circumstances. It wasn’t as if I was going to make a fest of it and line them up until we were both under the table. Fuck. Well, I want a drink, anyway. We could have been killed!” He drifted thoughtfully in the direction of the armchairs by the fire, a glass in each hand. 

Hermione wasn’t convinced. Draco’s mind was still revolving around the questions that she had wanted to lead him away from. 

Uneasily, she followed him over to the fire and perched herself in the opposite armchair, taking in the distant expression as the blonde sipped at the amber liquid in the glass he held in his right hand. The other hand gripped the second glass absently, resting it on the arm of the chair. Hermione shifted anxiously in her seat.  
This drew the blonde’s attention once more and he seemed to size her up, tilting his head fractionally. 

“....Who was it? When was it?”

She frowned. His eyes were slightly unfocussed – she almost had the impression that he was merely musing to himself aloud rather than asking a question.  
Or perhaps that wasn’t the question that his mind was actually preoccupied with.  
The silence stretched on. She couldn’t exactly tell him the truth and yet she found she couldn’t quite manage to force the dismissive lie across her lips that she didn’t know what he was talking about, letalone the blunt refutation of his correct assumption.   
As she held her breath and shifted her eyes to the low flickering flames of the fire, she could almost feel the blonde boy’s expression darken as he looked at her

“I don’t want to talk about it.” she bit out, thin lipped. “and if I did – I assure you – you wouldn’t be the first name to spring to mind.”

“Katie Bell”

Hermione glanced up, confused and unbalanced by the venom and desperation with which the snotty blonde had spat the words, apropos of nothing.

“um.. what?”

She watched as Draco ground his teeth, his narrowed eyes on the glass in his right hand. “You heard” he snarled. “it was Bell.. the daft tart. She was the first he..he made me..”   
Grey eyes swivelled and fixed on her own entreatingly. 

She just knew she was looking at Draco like a stunned mullet and closed her mouth with a quiet but audible click.

“I.. it was an accident!!” he whined. “After my father was captured in the ministry of magic, the Dark Lord took more of..of.. an interest.. in me. He set me a task.. it wasn’t her I was supposed to.. It was just...bad luck.. or..or the witch was too nosy for her own good. I.. I don’t know. I wasn’t there. It was...”

Hermione reeled her jaw in once again from the surprise at the wheedling confession her longtime school enemy was making to her.  
Draco, as if he was recovering his senses too, composed himself again, the distant mask sliding back up over.  
“You were already gone by then... and I hadn’t yet been given “visiting privileges” – as far as I was concerned you were probably dead, or as good as – we weren’t on the most amicable of terms at that point, you’ll recall. It.. was a Hogsmeade weekend and-.... what?” The blonde glared off to the left in something between defiance and peevishness. 

Hermione tried to smooth her forehead from the furrow of consternation it had taken on. What the hell was the ferret playing at?! And then he answered that question too, which, she realised, must have been clearly painted across her face for him to read.

“I told you that already when I first visited you in St Mungos. There are..things... that trouble me. Things that I’ve done – that he made me do... and other things that he didn’t exactly make me do – such as cruciating you that night. I need to..” the pale sharp slender face tightened in discomfort as if the wizard were physically struggling with the effort to force the words out.   
“I need to get some things off my chest... I need to talk to someone – but only someone who might understand. You understand how it was with the Dark Lord.. He was very difficult to refuse.   
Potter doesn’t and won’t ever know what that means – whatever he has or hasn’t been through – he’s still bloody oblivious and naive to everything short of a brick upside the head.   
None of my surviving former friends who have been in similar positions seem to be at all bothered by their own actions... at least those who haven’t been given the kiss don’t seem to be, obviously. The others – well, very little will ever bother them again.   
I.. I just have to do something. I have difficulty sleeping.. Do you...that is.. I don’t know what all happened to you there but you...must.. understand at least how it feels to be apart from all others. Your friends and acquaintances don’t know you anymore.. don’t trust you.. your family wants to have you declared mad. Surely you-“

“Yes.” She heard herself growl in a leaden voice. “Yes. Ok. I understand.”

Draco looked at once relieved and peculiarly sharpened, like an animal that had scented blood.

“I didn’t want to do it.” he offered quickly “but you didn’t say ‘No’ to him. You didn’t say ‘I can’t’ – even if it was something terrible, because...” he swallowed and the small pointed adams apple in his slender white throat bobbed slightly.

“Because you’d end up doing it anyway and if you tried to resist – it got worse” she finished for him wearily. 

The expression on the aristocratic face as Draco nodded at her betrayed faint satisfaction.   
“It did. And... it was worse if he hadn’t given you specific orders.. if he just told you to use your own discretion... or gave you the freedom to do it ‘however you prefer.’ It was as if you were choosing to do it yourself then. And... and he knew that”   
Draco’s face wore a tight, introspective, haunted, grimace and Hermione could sympathise. She really could.

“yes, exactly!” she responded with restrained indignation – that same point had bothered her no end in her dealings with the wizard. “and he seemed to enjoy it even more then! But what else could you do?!”

“yes. ...Exactly.” Draco repeated back at her hollowly.

They shared a long look. Hermione was just revisiting her impression of the now Lord Malfoy when Draco asked, with such nonchalance that his voice nearly shook with the raw gobs of ‘passing interest’ dripping from it “So..what did he make you do then?”

She held her breath and counted to five to prevent herself from screaming obscenities at the git. For a moment she’d actually been tempted to answer the question. For a few seconds she’d been sucked into the whole ‘oh poor Draco – he was trapped into doing awful things just like I was – I should share with him just a little bit since he did open up and tell me about how upset he was at being forced to kill someone’   
But then...she really couldn’t be sure now that anything at all had ever happened to Katie Bell – Draco might have made it all up just to manipulate her into revealing her own secrets. As it was – the best case suggested that he was, in a typically Slytherin manner, seeking some sort of quid pro quo. He would tell her about the awful things that she had no interest in hearing about if she would tell him about the awful things that she had no intention of speaking about. 

‘Alright... calm down. Think!’ Hermione tried to get her thoughts back into order, feeling the probing stare still upon her, still waiting, still metaphorically slavering for information.   
How to get away from this?!   
She couldn’t stay with Harry right now – the logic behind that had been quite reasonable to her- and if what she had been told was at all true, returning home to her parents could be a very bad idea at this juncture. She had heard enough about psychiatric facilities in the muggle world to know without a doubt that she did not want to be locked away within one. If Draco was offering her an apartment.. then surely all she needed to do was remain polite until she could find and move into one, keep to herself there for a while and then she would inherit all of the galleons that her mysterious benefactor had left her. She could settle the score and go her own way then. All she had to do was keep shy of anyone who wanted to know about what had happened. At this point – who could really be trusted?! 

“I really am very tired, Draco. Perhaps we could talk another time” she said, keeping her eyes tuned on the shadows at the far corner of the room and away from the piercing grey ones a few metres away.

The fire crackled.

The silence stretched on too long. Hermione darted a nervous glance at her former classmate and now simultaneously overt threat and last, best, hope.  
Draco was considering her with cool narrowed eyes. His demeanour reminded her in some strange way of Voldemort – of absolute power displeased with her. The impression shattered almost in the moment that she glimpsed it and then Draco was all polite apologies and reassurances. He glided to his feet smoothly and vanished the drinks he had been holding without a second thought, before summoning a uniformed house elf and requesting it respectfully to guide her to her rooms. Then, as if embarrassed or suddenly urgently required elsewhere, he offered with unconvincing humility that he hoped that they would be adequate to her needs, informed her that all of Malfoy Manor was at her service should she require anything whatsoever, bade her good evening with a short bow and retreated from the room quietly, closing the door behind him.

She was left, in the face of the sudden departure, blinking in mild confusion and trying to make sense of her impressions. Was she biased in her apprehension of Draco? Was she being unfair? He had seemed to make every effort to be cordial and generous, understanding and patient. He hadn’t actually done anything for which she could fault him at any point.   
So he had asked her about what had happened to her. He’d expressed the desire to share his own experiences with her. Perhaps he needed her to reciprocate in order to be able to do so. She had no idea whether Slytherins might not have much more difficulty in that arena than Gryffs. She hadn’t actually known any.

Well.. aside from Voldemort.   
He was ...rather reticent about sharing information about himself. But would that be because he was a Slytherin, or – more likely – because he was Lord Voldemort?! After all.. it was a logical prerequisite for successfully manipulating the masses that you not wear your heart on your sleeve.

Just like surviving if one is drafted into the service of a psychopathic Dark Lord with unbelievable legilimentic ability, she observed unwillingly.

Conceding to herself that it was faintly possible that she might be judging Draco unfairly, she sighed and tried to ignore the faint prick of uncertain guilt. Perhaps Draco was feeling panic right now because he had actually voluntarily made himself vulnerable before her, only to have her throw the gesture back in his face.   
But was that her fault?! She had told him that she didn’t want to talk about it and he’d offered the information voluntarily even so. 

“Missy be wanting to go up to her rooms now?” the little elf squeaked up at her with a hopeful smile, extending its hand to her. The creature didn’t seem at all like Dobby had been. It had a very calm and collected appearance to it. “Is a very nice rooms that the Master is giving you. You be liking thems.”

 

*#*#*#*

 

Should she? 

Of course she should.. so why was she hesitating?! 

Hermione sat on the luxuriously appointed bed in the bedroom that was opulent to the point of elegance without veering into ostentation, feeling uneasy, trapped, suspicious and strangely guilty over the fact.   
After Draco had departed, The little elf in the silver and black uniform, ‘Topaz’, had taken Hermione by the hand and led her slowly upstairs and through a confusing maze of corridors to a door that seemed just like any other door, but which was evidently the room that Draco had intended for her... rather than simply an acceptable room that the elf thought she might like.

She came to this conclusion based upon the object that she was currently staring at pensively from her perch on the edge of the bed.

It had been in the room when she had entered. The attached note was quite thoughtful. It stated to the effect that Draco had thought she might be in need of the potion in question but had not wanted to broach the rather delicate subject. It explained that the potion was trustworthy - it had been made by Severus Snape and would not expire for another three years. Indeed this part was at least partially corroborated by the scratchy extremely right leaning handwriting of the potions master on the little label that was affixed over the unbroken wax seal on the potion.   
‘Abortive potion – for use within 72 hours of conception”  
It was a narrow slender black potions phial of the type she had seen a thousand times before in the infirmary at Hogwarts or in the surreptitious possession of older Gryffindor girls. It was the wizarding world’s equivalent of the morning-after pill.

She didn’t know why she was hesitating. ‘

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Draco. She was once again rather more angled toward the direction of trusting him at present.. but, even if she weren’t, she suspected that he wouldn’t substitute anything with this particular potion unless he actually wanted her to become pregnant with Harry’s child – and she couldn’t see any possible benefit to him from that outcome. Ergo the potion was probably trustworthy. 

Although it wasn’t the absolute core of her anxiety and internal chaos right now - the fact that the potion had already been here and waiting troubled her deeply - the notion that Draco had known that she would be coming back here, irrespective all the talk about apartments. That he had planned for it.   
Well.. Ok.. she had no absolute proof of that. Obviously he might have remembered and apparated back to pen the note and have a house elf deliver it while she was travelling the twenty miles to her room. ..And even if he had planned for her to stay – he had expected problems when he’d come by Harry’s place that morning. He had intended to ask her to stay. He’d made no secret of that.

Oh!!! Harry’s place! She startled slightly, losing her grip on her previous train of thought. Her things! She needed to go and collect them!  
Although...the prospect of facing Harry and Ginny either still fighting or in the midst of ‘making up’ was supremely unattractive..

The thought of leaving everything there bothered her though. It felt vulnerable.. as if cat burglars might be slipping through the windows while she sat here, to steal the odd, seemingly useless objects.  
Was it at all wise to bring them here though?  
Bringing them to Malfoy Manor felt almost more worrying than leaving them where they were. She did not put it past Draco to go through her things with a fine tooth comb the moment her back was turned. And he was far more broadly versed in dark magic than she herself, and in all magic, really, if she was comparing him to Harry and Ginny.   
If she herself couldn’t make sense of what the charred door meant or did.. she certainly didn’t want to risk the possibility that Draco could and that it might be something extremely valuable from Voldemort. 

No.. her things were currently hidden and warded in a secret kept building. It would be better to leave them there until she had a place of her own. Harry wouldn’t go through them if he could get to them and Ginny probably wouldn’t be able to find them.   
Hopefully..

She picked up the potion and weighed it in her hand.

It was the only reasonable thing to do. She couldn’t take the risk of further repercussions from the little ‘mistake’ that had occurred last night.

So why was she hesitating?

It was not as if she wanted to have a child – or even Harry’s child.. and it would make everything a thousand times worse. And if it was the issue of killing a potential unborn child – well.. she’d killed fully grown people that she had cared for. She’d killed a death eater less than two hours ago. This was, pragmatically seen, a small group of cells, IF it was even there at all.

There was no reason to be dithering about like this.   
She broke the seal decisively and raised the phial to her lips, her nose prickling at the sharp vapours already curling from the lip of the slender phial. She snorted, pausing, trying to identify the tantalisingly familiar scent from memory. Potions class lay a long time in the past now though. Her mind fumblingly wanted to say that there was something in the potion that smelled faintly like yam... or.. sweet potato? Not quite but.. there was something very familiar about that. Professor Sprouts round red face popped unhelpfully into her associations. It wasn’t yam.. it was...

She was stirred from her musing by an elf cracking into the room without warning and asking her in a squeaky voice whether she would be liking dinner now. When she guiltily told it that she wasn’t hungry and would go to bed early, it looked frightened and popped away quickly. Although she had not seen or heard Draco abuse his house elves.. the little creature’s behaviour gave her pause. Would it be punished because she wasn’t peckish?!  
And she really wasn’t. She was finding herself, now that she was finally alone and able to think, somewhat melancholic in the face of her recent unflinching murder. Oh... not regretful.. that would be too much to say – but it was disturbing that she had somehow, in mere months, gone from being an innocent captive in a cage to someone who would fire a deadly dark curse at someone else without so much as the intervention of higher thought processes.  
Although she might have been able to argue self defence back and forth, she knew in her own mind, it had been murder.  
And now it would be murders if she counted the abortifacient gripped tightly in her hand, fizzing away to itself innocuously in the dim candlelight, as if it were merely aspirin or alka seltzer she would take for a head or stomach ache. 

On the one hand she recognised rationally that a cluster of cells had no self awareness, no sense of pain or loss. Emotionally however.. the idea of killing her own child appalled her. 

She placed the potion back at her lips with fingers that barely trembled.

And then before she could talk herself out of what was the only reasonable thing to do in these awful circumstances, she’d tipped the phial and forced the bitter tasting mouthful down her throat.   
It left a strangely blackberry taste in its wake.

Almost immediately, it was next to impossible to keep her eyes open. She chided herself for not having considered that potential aspect of the potion and struggled to free herself from her jumper and shoes and drag herself onto the bed. It was difficult to coordinate her fingers and remember what she was doing. She got the jumper off and dropped it uncaring immediately, but only managed to toe one shoe off before she was dropping down, as if from a great height, onto the mattress of the bed.  
The pillow was sweetly scented. Jasmine.. or .. or.. another flower.. she wasn’t sure but it was lovely. Relaxing. She drifted off without even noticing.

 

*#*#*#*#*

 

He was there..

She curled closer in the darkness.. feeling the warm, smooth, familiar body lying next to her in bed. He lay on his back, relaxed, somehow powerful even in repose, as he always had been.   
She knew every line.. every muscle. Her trembling hand ghosted lightly down his warm side and she physically ached in relief.   
“I missed you!” she whispered urgently, entirely incapable of preventing the words frothing out of her in her joy.   
“I knew you’d never let yourself be killed like that. It was too easy. You planned it, didn’t you?! Where have you been?! Have you been here all along?! Is that why Draco was so adamant about me staying here? Why didn’t you just.. I would have.. it’s been so hard without you for weeks and weeks. I.. I mean.. I’m not presuming to.. that is.. it.. It doesn’t matter, really. I’m just.. I’m just so glad to see you! Don’t leave me again!! Please.. I’m sorry that I disobeyed.. I’ll do what you tell me from now on, I promise! Just.. let me stay with you!”

She became aware with a momentarily jarring disorientation that she was in the Dark Lord’s bedchamber.   
Was this a different room in Malfoy Manor? A room he’d altered to resemble the one he preferred? Was she.. she couldn’t actually be back wherever his own domain had been – the aurors would have taken that place apart brick by brick by now. It was impossible for it to remain as it had looked in the time she had been there.   
The torches were out, yet she could make out the faint familiar lines of the furniture.. the bookcases.. the bedposts.. the desk. She could see the vague form of the body next to her. She knew his silhouette better than that of any other living being.

But not in the dark. 

In the darkness in his chambers it was impossible to see anything at all. There were no doors or windows. In his chamber, the dark was absolute. She shouldn’t be able to see.  
Her fingertips traced up over the warm chest. It seemed that she could see the faint crimson glimmers of his eyes.. but of course, she couldn’t possibly in the dark..

The realisation struck her with sickening certainty that she was dreaming and Voldemort was dead.

It felt like a cold hand had crushed her heart. He was really dead. He was not coming back and it was her fault.

Unlike every other lucid dream she had ever had, the discovery that she was dreaming didn’t break the spell, causing her to start to drift awake. If anything the dream became still deeper. She felt she could smell the familiar scent of him. Clean..organic.. like leaves and rain and old parchment. Her stomach clenched and she felt tears well up. 

“You’re gone.. aren’t you. This isn’t real.”   
It was a mere whimper. She didn’t want to wake up.

He turned his face away, anger and bitterness narrowing his eyes. His thin lips were tight

The guilt was suffocating.   
Abruptly, he turned in the bed and reached for her.   
She flinched back in shock - For a moment she was afraid that he was going to take revenge.. but his hands were not rough. He was apparently not seeking her pain at present.   
She shivered as she was stroked and pulled against him. Warm smooth lips kissed her forehead and she couldn’t help sobbing and clinging.   
If it were not a dream she would have held back. He despised weakness and enjoyed her tears only when he had wrung them from her personally.

“Do you regret your choice?!”

She stiffened at the unexpected question. His strange breathy harmonic voice.. She had thought never to hear it again. It made butterflies swarm inside her chest.

“Yes!!! Yes – I’m so sorry!! I wish I hadn’t done it! I wish I’d killed Harry like you told me to! I’ll.. I’ll.. I don’t know what I’ll do. I want- no, I need-..”

“You wish my return?”   
It was a purr; dark and suggestive. She nodded frantically, holding the warm hard body more tightly.   
“Yes! Tell me how! I’ve been thinking about it but I..I’m not sure where to begin.. or if it’s safe for me to do anything yet. I’m worried that if I leave it too long then there’ll be nothing I can do – but if I act carelessly then they’ll lock me up and I’ll never be able to bring you back at all! What do I need to do?! I’ll do it!”

In answer he growled and rolled, pushing her down onto her back and leaning over her, bruising her lips with a devouring kiss. She responded eagerly, pleading with the fates not to let her wake up yet. One of his warm hands stroked over her body. It did not feel seductive – it was somehow proprietary, as if he were checking for damage incurred in his absence. She didn’t care. His touch soothed in a way nothing else had since she had awoken in the hospital. After a while he stopped, pulling away and looking down at her.

“You have betrayed me... You have lain with another.”

Guilt surged through her in a rush of blood to her face. How did he know?! She hadn’t been thinking about it.. there was no way to tell. He hadn’t even touched her there yet. 

“N-no... that is.. not really.. I don’t remember... I.. I don’t know what happened. I think.. I think Draco might have drugged me.. Or..maybe not. Maybe it was just alcohol. I don’t know. I guess that..H-Harry must have...um...done it. Draco said he had.. and..and Harry was acting strangely this morning.. I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I have no idea what even happened.   
Maybe. Maybe I did um.. lie with someone else.. technically.. but not intentionally, m-my Lord.. If..if I did then I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry!”

The crimson eyes narrowed once more appraisingly and the oppressive silence stretched on before he spoke again.   
“You promised to obey me.. Will you do as I instruct you now?”

Hermione frowned and thought about the question. If it was just a dream, then it wasn’t really the Dark Lord. Ergo, she would be telling herself what to do.   
But if it was a part of her subconscious telling her what the Dark Lord would want her to do?! What if it had already worked out via some idiot savant method how to bring him back?!

“Maybe..” she whispered.

His lip curled in disgust and she could feel his magic prickle around her as he hissed his displeasure, a hand closing around her throat and painfully tightening with effortless precision to the sheer razor edge of crushing her windpipe, her cartilage grinding and clicking as she struggled for breath, leaving no doubt that her next responses could bring a further deterioration of her circumstances.   
“Your last disobedience cost me the entire wizarding world, witch! I am offering you one final chance. Will you obey me?!”

“Yes!! Yes.. ok. Ok.. I will. I’ll do whatever you want.” She choked out breathlessly, disturbed by the bizarre conviction she suddenly felt that she indeed would do whatever the dream Voldemort might command.

He softened, settling again and she had the strange mental impression of a cobra pulling its hood back in against its body.   
“Very well. We shall see whether your word is worth anything at all” he muttered. “You have received my bequest.”

She startled slightly and nodded.   
“I ...I think so.. but I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do with it.”

His pitying smirk made her feel two inches tall. “You will need to ensure that you are alone when you first use it. The first hand to make contact with the handle after it is hung will be the only hand capable of opening it.”

A thrill of excitement jolted through her. It was something important. It was from him and it wasn’t just an old door.   
“What’s behind the door?” she asked, pleased.

He ignored the question entirely and continued without pause   
“I expect you to spend at least three hours per day beyond the door. In addition, you will also ensure that you sit your NEWT examinations. Draco Malfoy will fund whatever you require. It is to be completed before the year is out.  
Hermione - I wish you to surpass outstanding results. Show me that my interest in you was not misguided; that you are worthy of my attention. You must demonstrate brilliance.” 

She didn’t really see the point, but she nodded anyway. What would it matter if she achieved wonderful results?! It was quite apparent that no one would ever trust her again and she’d never be able to get a good job anyway.

“I believe that you will prove yourself worthy. It would be indescribably disappointing to me, were you to fail.   
...There are several more tasks I intend to entrust to you – but I must be certain that you are willing and able to follow orders. It is your own behaviour that has necessitated such distrust.”

She felt the guilt stab at her viciously again. Whether or not this was a dream – she would carry out whatever ‘order’ he might give. After all – the other two ‘orders’, even if they came from her subconscious, seemed quite reasonable and practical. The Dark Lord, currently leaning over her, tilted his head as if in thought and then his small smirk widened slightly.   
It evoked a vestigial panic response in her. He always smiled that way when he was about to do something nasty – whether it was to curse her or to demand something horrible.   
Internally she braced herself for something unacceptable.

“Perhaps a small..test... to ensure you will follow my direction, irrespective what your own feelings might be...” He paused and the smirk turned feral.  
“Before the next new moon – you will retrieve at least one hair each from Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, without their knowledge and without utilising any magic in the process.   
It is a test of your determination and resourcefulness. You will hide these hairs beyond the door.”

At her horrified expression the smile widened still further.   
“I imagine you will require ingenuity if you do not wish to attract further complications while collecting the sample from Potter. The wizarding world and the Weasley family will be monitoring you.   
Young Malfoy will be yet more challenging – I have known him to be extremely vigilant in these matters. If he suspects you of attempting to steal a substance that can be utilised to render him vulnerable, he will react aggressively and will be intensely suspicious around you thereafter. Think carefully before you act.”

She was still gaping and trying to wrap her mind around the concept. “But.. how am I supposed to do it then?!” she sputtered, upset. “Harry and Draco are.. well.. all I have in the world right now. The only ones helping me at all. If I do this and it goes wrong then I’ll lose everything! It’s an insane risk! What do I even need their hair for?! Render them vulnerable, how?! And why?!”

He snorted, amused and leaned down to press a chaste kiss to her forehead. “It is, as I said, a test, Hermione. As I still find myself tragically tempted by you, I will be generous, my pet. I will permit you to use seduction as a tactic, provided that you do not willingly allow either boy to bed you. You still belong to me. Do not forget.   
I am willing to forgive your betrayal only because you were unable to defend yourself adequately. You will never allow it to happen again. In future, you will consume nothing without first testing it for harmful content. Even among so-called ‘friends’, you must never assume you are safe.”

The disarray of emotions this produced was unsettling. How could he.. just.. just.. tell her that he owned her, like a bloody object?! And using seduction against bloody Draco Malfoy in order to collect hair that she didn’t even want and that he’d go ballistic if he caught her trying to steal?! And Harry??! If she led Harry on now.. oh god. It would make everything worse. This was like some kind of subconscious self destructive impulse, surely?! She was seeking to punish herself for killing Lord Voldemort.   
And he did not own her. She didn’t ‘belong’ to him, damn it! And he was dead!  
..guilt..

This was surely a product of her own sick mind. If she acted on this dream, she’d be fit for ‘Mungo’s, nevermind Azkaban. She would not attempt to “seduce” Draco or Harry or anyone else and she would-

It appeared that one could experience a rather convincing facsimile of the Cruciatus curse while in a dream. She would never have believed it had she not been screaming and twisting in pain.

The curse was removed and she cracked her eyes open to an icy crimson glare.   
“As I said. You are unreliable, Hermione. Your unwillingness to give me your trust and to obey without question has caused me more inconvenience than you can possibly comprehend.   
I promised you only one further opportunity to redeem yourself. This was to be merely a very small test.. -neither complicated nor demanding. A tiny gesture of your faith..   
You did, after all, fall upon me with tearful apologies and pleas... You claimed to regret your disobedience.. to wish my return...”

“No!! please I didn’t mean to.. I wasn’t.. I’m sorry – I’ll..” She swallowed, afraid and feeling foolish for promising to do something based upon a dream “I’ll.. I’ll try to do it, ok? I’ll try. I’m not unreliable. I’m not! I’ll.. wait.. am I supposed to hang the door here?! Can I trust Draco at all?! Only.. I can’t live at Grimmauld place anymore and.. and.. I have the feeling Draco is going to make it difficult for me to leave. I probably shouldn’t have come here I gue-“

She tried to cling as Lord Voldemort pulled away but he drew away and turned, slipping out of the bed in the darkness and striding away toward the bookshelves.

“Enough. Show me your obedience and we will talk further. In the interim - you are to remain at Malfoy Manor. Do not trust Draco. Remain alert and take the opportunities he offers, but do not feel compelled to repay his kindnesses. You are not a Slytherin, Hermione – you are not expected to repay favours with favours.”   
He reached the bookcase and gestured, opening it to the dark back room and gliding within; a pale figure in the unbroken black. His voice drifted out to her.  
“And take care in your travels outside the Manor, Hermione - a number of my former servants will be seeking you. Do not let your guard slip.”

“I know” she mumbled unhappily. “I killed one of them yesterday. Am I supposed to kill them if I come across them? I mean.. well.. assuming this isn’t just a dream and i’m not going mad – if it’s really you and you might be able to come back – if I kill your servants then it’s going to weaken you! The ministry has already arrested most of them and quite a few died in the final days. What I mean is.. well.. what do you want me to do?! And.. and what do I do if anyone finds out about the door....or even gets through it somehow?!  
....  
M-My Lord?”

She listened. Everything was still and quiet in the darkness. 

“My Lord??!” she called again with an uncertain quavering tone. Something in the atmosphere had changed. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. 

The doorway to the storage room was a rectangle of deeper black.

“Master??!” she tried with a tight high voice. Silence answered.   
Had he gone? Was there another door in there? Was she meant to follow?

Swallowing, realising that the dream was not ending and that she had to do something, she slid her legs out from under the covers, sitting up carefully, her eyes wide and fixed on the doorway. The floor was cold against her bare feet and felt dusty..gritty... She tried to tug the sheet out of the bed to wrap around herself but it refused to come loose.   
Giving up, she stood, wrapping her arms around her middle, feeling vulnerable in her nakedness, and padded cautiously toward the open doorway to the storage room.   
She tried to peer in and managed to make out the vague undefined impression of rows of shelves with items ranged upon them. Bottles, packets, other things she couldn’t identify.   
Treading over the threshold she was shocked to find the ‘storage’ room extended off into the distance, fading into absolute darkness. The shelves went on and on. She couldn’t make out any faint figure that might be the Dark Lord.

Something moved in the corner of her eye and she turned her head quickly, trying to catch it. There was nothing. The shadows of the bed, the wall, the desk.. nothing..

Turning her head back to the distant blackness in the depths of the storage room she heard something. It was so faint that she would have missed it if it hadn’t been for the unnatural silence all around.  
It was a caught breath. Someone else’s breath. She couldn’t make out which direction it came from.   
It could be Lord Voldemort. Perhaps he was still here.

She didn’t think it was though. The dream started to feel ominous.. the sensation she recognised too well from a nightmare that was about to start. Her heart beat faster in her chest and she had the almost irresistible urge to run as fast as she could down the dark corridor before her, away from whatever was hiding in the room behind her, remaining still and quiet.. waiting for her.

Hermione’s feet knew her decision before she did. She broke into a run into the darkness ahead.

Immediately she could hear the sound of someone pursuing, boots crunching against the stone as they ran. Trying to turn and see who it was would be asking to trip and fall. One always tripped and fell in dreams.   
The ground became more uneven underfoot, littered with unseen debris. She stumbled and yelped out as her soft soles tore on sharp stones and what felt like broken glass, and still she ran.   
With her breath burning in her lungs and white spots blinking before her eyes she could hear her pursuer close at her heels, their breath soft and even and somehow eager.

If she didn’t stop running soon, she was going to collapse. She couldn’t breathe. Her limbs felt like lead.

Just a dream! It was just a dream! She needed to wake herself up. Nothing could happen to her – it was just a dream!

The laugh chilled her blood to ice in her veins. She knew that laugh. She would never forget that laugh. That high pitched, insane cackle.

Bellatrix.   
She had never suffered under the demented witch’s wand, but she had watched her destroy others more often than she could recall. Bellatrix was vicious.. creative.. sadistic.. completely bloody insane!

“Coming to get you, Mudblood”   
The singsong taunt seemed to be mere metres behind.. so close.. closer than she’d thought. Hermione managed to find another spurt of energy. She reached for the shelves to either side and tossed jars behind her blindly. This only resulted in further deranged laughter from behind her. 

The sharp pain sliced into her, even as it threw her forward like a ragdoll. She cried out in pain and landed hard on her stomach, her arms bracing below her face, sliding in a long grazing scuff with the momentum of her movement. Before she’d even stopped moving she could feel hot thick liquid drizzling down her bare back from the cut.   
She remained face down and closed her eyes, waiting for Bellatrix to continue what she had started. No more games.. The witch would take her apart now, as she’d seen her take apart men, women and children.   
Bellatrix Lestrange had taunted her mildly when she was a caged oddity, but the witch was rabidly loyal and devoted to the Dark Lord. Death would be too good for Hermione if Bellatrix had any reason to hold her responsible for the Dark Lord’s death.   
In fact – merely surviving when He had been defeated would be insult enough, in all probability.  
This was her guilty conscience rewarding her for what she had done.  
Either that or it was the Dark Lord’s gentle chiding punishment. That is...If this was anything more than a normal, if extremely detailed lucid dream..

The seconds stretched on into silent minutes and Hermione opened her eyes, half expecting the curse to fall in the moment she turned.

Warm yellow light met her eyes, reflected from a floor that was suddenly, incongruently, smooth buttery polished wood.

She gasped and pushed up from her cowering posture, automatically flinching against a wound that was no longer there. No.. pulling herself to her feet and spinning in a confused circle, she took in the empty corridor around her. Its walls were papered richly in pale emerald and black diamonds. Decorative candlesticks hovered near the walls at regular intervals, stretching off into the distance in one direction, turning a corner then to the right. In the other direction a few metres ahead there was a closed door.

It seemed to beckon. She had the instinctive feeling that she was supposed to go and open it.

She wanted to wake up now! NOW!! She’d had just about enough of this dream. Behind that door could be anything and as good as it had been to see her former captor, it had been painful in more than one way. Furthermore – having escaped Bellatrix, she really had no particular wish to possibly be tossed into a dungeon with Fenrir Greyback or perhaps Bromley Chaldean – the Death eater she’d just killed only hours ago.   
Folding her arms around herself and steeling her brow, she decided that she would not move from this spot. She would wake up!!. 

As if the thought had set off a chain reaction, at the far end of the corridor a shadow flicked across the wall. The floating candlestick around the corner had just extinguished itself apparently.

She wasn’t foolish enough not to see this as a warning. Her face fell in dismay and she shifted on her feet nervously.

The farthest visible candle went out, plunging the end of the corridor into deep shadows.

Nervously, she backed up a step toward the door.

The next candle went out. The corridor disappeared into darkness now.

Hermione swallowed against a throat that was suddenly dry and sore. Her imagination was manufacturing all manner of horrible things that might now come out of that darkness for her, the least of them being the twisted, sadistic Bellatrix Lestrange. Really – that would probably be a kind horror. It could be the bodies of all those she’d killed resurrected as inferi.

Another light doused itself as the darkness marched up the hallway toward her slowly. It was followed rather more swiftly by the next and there were only two more between her and the dark now.

Shivering and full of dread she made her choice even as the next candle guttered and died. Turning quickly she hurried to the door and twisted the handle. 

Although the handle turned, the door was immoveable and now the candles behind her were quickly going out one after another. She whimpered and threw herself into the door in mounting panic, twisting the handle and muttering pleas under her breath for it to open. 

Just as the last candle beside her sputtered and hissed out and the cold black gushed up and swallowed her, the door finally gave, spilling inward. In the half second of unbalanced falling as she tumbled forward onto the floor inside the room, she felt chill clammy fingers touch her.. an unknown questing hand in the dark that strafed over the bare skin of her back before she was torn away by gravity.  
There wasn’t even time to shriek at the repulsive sensation. She twisted on the floor wildly, turning and dragging herself back from the doorway, trying to ready herself to fight back against whatever it was.

There was a slam as the door closed and then it seemed that the entire scene shifted as if a light had been switched on.

A light had been switched on, but it was more than mere light that had snapped into being around her. The room she was in, the atmosphere, everything was changed   
And she too had been altered, she realised, glancing down at her own splayed form on the wooden boards. Soft silvery waves covered her legs haphazardly.. the silk of the dress askew with her odd position. 

But that was not the main focus of her shock and curiosity.

No. that was held by the figure seated across the room at a desk, its back to her as it wrote. 

The tall, high backed wooden chair looked familiar...as did the desk with its array of parchments and texts piled and overlapping in a half circle like eager children clustered around a puppy - However the figure seated at the desk did not fit the picture. Far from the smooth inhuman white of the Dark Lord’s hairless skull, glossy black hair cascaded to the wizard’s shoulders in waves. 

Uneasily, she pulled herself to her feet and ventured tentatively closer, her eyes taking in the rest of the room cautiously while keeping the unknown wizard in her sights.   
It was quite an attractive room, she thought. It reminded her a little of the small study that Draco had brought her back to earlier that evening. The room was cosy, masculine and entirely dominated by bookshelves and reference objects.   
This was a place of work and quiet contemplation. She could almost taste the focus brought to bear here.

A small fireplace glowed softly – mere embers and ash filling its grate now. The soft scritch scritch of a quill on parchment lulled her senses, even though she wanted to remain on edge.

Moving close to the seated figure now, she stepped slightly to the right, angling herself as she neared so that she might catch a glimpse of the man’s face.   
When she did, it stole her breath and stopped her cold.  
Even if she had never seen it before in her life – she knew that that was what Voldemort’s face had looked like before he had encountered Harry on that fateful night . It was different.. but.. it was unmistakeably his face. Him. The Dark Lord.   
A man seemingly in his mid thirties, he had a rather strong roman nose and his lips were full and dark. 

She jumped away in horror as dark blue eyes flicked up from the parchment he was working on and caught her own gaze. She had somehow imagined that she was just a silent observer here.   
His soft amused smile made it obvious that that wasn’t the case. 

“Ah my dear, is it so late? I lose all sense of time in here, as usual.” 

He turned back to his work and frowned faintly, leaning back and pulling a mildly frustrated grimace before tossing the quill down onto the parchment in exasperation and stretching his arms above him, eyes closed and a yawn pulling at his jaw. With fascination, Hermione watched him roll his shoulders and crick his neck before leaning back in his chair once more and then turning to her.

“Why are you so far away? Come here. I am quite tired this evening however in that dress you look good enough to eat – and I believe I may find some reserves of strength purely for that purpose”  
A wolfish smirk played at the corners of the familiar unfamiliar mouth and Hermione blinked in a sudden clash of different emotions within her chest. Bittersweet yearning was chief among them.  
Why couldn’t it have been like this? Why couldn’t he have been a wizard she’d met.. a normal man.. someone with whom any future might not contain a cage.   
She padded closer silently, her eyes devouring the planes of his face, the lines of his body as he pushed the chair back further from the desk, opening himself to her and offering a hand to take her own and guide her onto his lap.   
Hermione didn’t require further convincing. With hope only that the dream didn’t end here, she moved to sit astride him on the chair, feeling the strange warm familiarity of his hands as his arms moved to enfold her.   
The expression on his face was one of anticipation of something both well known and highly desirable. Dark blue eyes glittered as he pulled her more snugly against him and she felt the faint hardening beneath her bottom. 

“Do you know.. “ he murmured, seemingly musing aloud “I believe I should not achieve nearly as much each day if I were not pushed to do so out of sheer impatience to be free to return to you.”

She blinked in shock, unresisting as she was dragged closer and her mouth thoroughly plundered by the not-quite-Dark-Lord. It was so different with lips.. softer.. his tongue was warmer, the slick muscle stroking her own in a manner that pulled the groan from her throat automatically. She felt his hands smoothing over her back, gripping and stroking. The faint growl of her zip being lowered only heated her blood further.

“What are you doing?”

The small high curious voice emanated from somewhere near her knee, she registered vaguely through a mind mazed by lust. A moment later she was released from the kiss and found herself swaying and looking hazily at the man before her – who was inspecting her flushed, excited disorientation with dark-satisfaction written all over his gorgeous face. She shook her head slightly, trying to clear the feeling of near intoxication his touch and kiss had evoked, and turned her head, looking for the source of the new voice that had interrupted them. When she located the speaker, she blinked at him in disturbed confusion. Her mind was offering rational explanations which were, despite their logic, utterly preposterous all the same.

“We were engaging in a recreational practice common between bonded pairs, Antioch.” The wizard holding her explained matter of factly in a voice that sounded placid and even faintly amused. “For such individuals, the activity is associated with increased health and improved vitality. It also operates to strengthen and reinforce the bond and harmonise the pair’s magic. Should you not be in bed sleeping now?”

Hermione hardly registered the response of the man who, she was quite certain, was the Dark Lord Voldemort. Her world had reduced itself to the diminutive figure currently standing by their side, clutching a large stuffed snake made of soft green leather under one arm and looking up at them both with a politely curious expression in his wide blue eyes.   
The child couldn’t have been more than three or four. His manner was peculiarly serious and composed for his age.   
The resemblance was unmistakeable between the tiny angelic little face with its cloud of black hair and the older wizard upon whose lap she still rested.

“I was in bed sleeping but I woke up” the child informed helpfully. “I wondered what you and mummy might be doing”

Mummy.

Hermione thought her heart might have stopped. It seemed that some cruel prankster had removed all the air from the room without warning.

 

It was at that moment that the bizarre dream finally released her. With a gasp, Hermione jolted awake to find herself lying in an unfamiliar and opulent bedroom, warm yellow light slipping into the room around heavy drapes. Her heart was pounding as if she had just run a race and her mouth felt like she had been stuffed with cotton wool. Licking her dry lips uncomfortably as she caught her breath and tried to calm down, the dream replayed itself in her memory disconcertingly.   
Had it all been the product of her overstressed mind? Was it just her subconscious’ way of processing the awful things that had gone before.  
Perhaps some of it, she considered. The last part, certainly. She doubted that Voldemort would ever want to place thoughts like that in her mind.   
But the first part?   
That had been so real.. her nerves felt slightly jangly from the dream cruciatus.   
Was she really going to risk her own safety by alienating her only two allies right now following instructions gained in a dream? Probably a potions-addled dream at that, she added to herself cynically

She snorted softly and rolled her eyes.   
No. Voldemort was dead and as much as she might wish it were not the case, she had seen him decapitated. Harry had told her that he was really and truly dead.

Course.. the idea her subconscious had come up with for the burnt door she’d inherited... that was perhaps not so daft. It would be a good idea to maybe find a place to hang the door and see if her mind had somehow made the connection without the intervention of her higher thought processes.

She was still speculating on where and how this might best be achieved when the house elf popped into the room beaming joyfully and levitating an ornate silver tray with breakfast.

The bright smile on the little grey wrinkled face faded almost at once and was replaced with worry and fear.  
“Oh! Oh missy has hurt herself. Oh oh oh dear! Topaz will tell master to gets a healer at once!”  
The upset little creature snapped away without a moment’s hesitation, leaving Hermione frowning at the empty space and still-hovering tray of breakfast.  
Slow suspicion dawning in her mind, she slipped to the edge of the bed, taking only a second to wonder who had changed her into the white cotton night gown she wore and tucked her into bed when she clearly remembered passing out, fully dressed, on top of the coverlet.   
When she reached the mirror in the bathroom she experienced the horrible vague sinking satisfaction of being right about something one wanted to be wrong about.

The dark bruises glaring starkly on the flesh of her throat were unmistakeably left by a hand.   
A large hand, she observed dully, placing her own over it. There was no way that she could possibly have done this to herself.

She had until the next new moon to complete the task set her.

Harry was wrong.   
The Dark Lord was not dead. He was not even powerless, if this dream was anything to go by.   
He wanted her to help him return.

Could she really do that? ‘Should’ wasn’t even a word she wanted to consider. Of course she shouldn’t – he was the bloody Dark Lord Voldemort.   
Could she live with herself if she didn’t though?  
Hell, could she even survive if she didn’t? A mild rebuff in a dream had left her with bruises and fading nerve damage – what else might her former Master decide to do if she proved reluctant to follow through on her assurance of obedience?!

Grimacing, she turned on the balls of her feet and stalked back to the bedroom to retrieve her wand. The last thing she needed was questions about how a blasted handprint found its way onto her throat while she slept. If Draco didn’t grill her about it then the healers at St Mungo’s definitely would.   
There was definitely a lot more to worry about now than aurors, Azkaban and public opinion.


	18. Chapter 18

‘She’d FAIL! Before she’d even started!! 

The house elf would tell Draco and he’d come any moment and discover the bruising! He’d start asking questions and this time he wouldn’t be easily put off.

EVERYTHING would come out!

If she wasn’t completely insane and somehow causing herself psychosomatic injuries; if Voldemort was really somehow communicating with her – she’d never have the chance to bring him back!! She’d have failed COMPLETELY! It would be like killing him all over again!’

Struggling to suppress the panic boiling inside her, Hermione concentrated and flicked her wand with quick, economical movements. Her fingers were trembling with adrenalin but the glamour spell was one she had used very frequently during her long year with the time turner and its casting was fluid and automatic through sheer habit.. 

She shouldn’t have needed the glamour charm back then, obviously. Logic dictated that she should have easily found enough time for sleep, since she’d had a Time Turner! – however that logic was flawed since sleep had always seemed so wasteful when she could be putting the time to better use by instead reading or attending class or spending time with Harry and Ron. Sleep was always pushed off until it could be delayed no more. So she had fallen into the habit of stretching herself too thinly; relying upon glamours to hide the black shadows under her eyes and the slight tremble in her fingers. 

It had been the primary reason cited when Professor Dumbledore had informed her that she would not be benefiting from the use of the time turner in the subsequent year. 

...Privately, she believed that the real reason was that she had already achieved whatever tasks her professor, in his convoluted machinations, had intended her to complete by allowing her the time turner. 

It was more than merely disappointing to her when she had learned that she would not be able to take every subject that interested her in her fourth year. The degree of indignant resentment she felt had worried her in the end. She wondered whether it wasn’t perhaps the product of some kind of strange addiction to the device and so eventually, extremely reluctantly, she told herself that it was perhaps for the best that she could not access it again.   
And then in fifth year... When Harry had led them all into the Ministry of Magic, seeking to save Sirius’ life again… she had found herself wondering whether she might be able to liberate one tiny unimportant time turner in the course of their rescue. The little thought had niggled at the back of her mind the entire time - even as she ran from the death eater ambush, fell into absolute darkness after Harry... and even as Dolohov pressed his wand to her throat and dragged her head back by her hair.   
...While she watched Sirius’ face light up in the sickly green of the killing curse; watched him fall and drift.. carried away by the strange currents of the veil of death; and while Harry screamed and raged and lost his mind; even then the faint gnat buzzing of the thought of the time turner had been there.

Strange that she should suddenly be reminded of that particular unflattering episode of her life now. Had it really been so long since she had cast a glamour charm? Surely she had used one since then at some point!

 

 

When Draco snapped into being in the centre of the room, wand drawn and entire frame tense as if expecting an attack any moment, Hermione was sitting on the bed, tying the laces of her shoes with exaggerated nonchalance. She startled back dramatically, to the best of her acting ability – laying out the full nine yards of a girly ‘squeak’, hand on chest, and catching her breath from the shock. She wondered if she had ever managed a glamour that quickly in her life before. She had dressed at something approaching light speed. The panting wasn’t all for show. 

The blonde darted glances about the room twitchily at the nothing whatsoever that appeared to not be assaulting her

“What happened?!” he demanded, starting toward her with an intent expression. “The elf said you were injured. Something about your throat?“

A sheepish expression was called for now, she thought. She cast her eyes down and tried to look like she was feeling very silly at causing a fuss.. “It’s...nothing. Sorry. I would have explained to Topaz that it was nothing serious, but she’d left. I’m fine. Nobody is attacking me. There’s nothing going on. I’m not bleeding to death, obviously. You can go back to…whatever it was you were doing. I was just about to come down and find you anyway.” 

Draco did not look convinced. Suspicious grey eyes inspected her warily.  
“Show me then. I’d like to see a nothing that could bring my elf bleating incoherently . She said you were hurt. What exactly happened!? How were you injured? As far as the wards tell me, you haven’t left this room since last night! Do I need to summon the healer?”

She filed this away thoughtfully, schooling her expression not to show the concern she felt. Draco would know where she was in the manor at any given time. Well that was good to know. How exactly was she supposed to squirrel herself away in some (probably imaginary) place behind some (hypothetical) enchanted door then?! She hadn’t the faintest idea where to begin if she wanted to find a way to fool what Draco had yesterday described as ‘the strongest wards that money and centuries of blood consecration can provide.’ Surely Voldemort would have known of the Malfoy wards! He wouldn’t just neglect a detail like that.

It added a little weight to the idea that what had happened last night might have just been a hyper-realistic dream brought on by stress and guilt.

Well…if not for the large hand-shaped bruise on her throat beneath the glamour.

She tilted her head back with a rueful grimace. “I must have hit myself on the bedside table when I fell out of bed last night. Beauty, isn’t it.” She fingered the small finger sized bruise that looked like it had been made by some kind of edged object. “um….I wanted to thank you-…the potion last night. I had forgotten all about …that… by the time we returned. I probably wouldn’t have had the nerve to ask you for something of that kind, even if I’d thought of it. So…thank you.”

Draco waved a hand dismissively at the thanks and moved even closer, leaning in to look at her neck. She wasn’t sure if he was entirely buying it, but the sharp tension had left his body.  
“I’ll have some bruise paste brought up. When did you fall out of bed? Topaz should have responded if you’d woken.”

She gave a shrug. I don’t know. It was dark. I wasn’t really thinking when I took the potion and it knocked me out rather quickly. I didn’t even manage to get onto the bed properly. After I’d picked myself up off the floor and crawled back into bed, I was out like a light before my head even hit the pillow. 

The last tightness around the blonde’s eyes loosened and gave way to general polite levels of concern. 

“That was my fault then. I should have mentioned it in the note. I’d assumed you’d realise - you were in the top three in potions, after all. And you seemed very collected when you left for bed, considering the circumstances.” He sighed slightly. “I’ll put some paste on it now and it-”

She drew back sharply. “No!” It came out more a gasp than a word. “No. That is – I…I’m not actually very comfortable with anyone else touching me right now. I…I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. Thank you again, Draco. I can do it myself.”

He stepped back stiffly and expressionlessly with a polite nod, but the set of his shoulders suggested he might be a wee bit offended at how horrified she’d sounded. She swallowed and smiled apologetically. 

“Midas!” he summoned in a voice that had only the faintest hint of bark to it. She supposed that he was probably trying to be more pleasant to his house elves for her benefit. Her thoughts on the matter of house elves were a matter of record, after the headmaster had had to intervene with the Hogwarts house elves when they stopped feeding, cleaning or doing any laundry for her after she tried to give them all knitted hats and scarves. 

The elf that popped into the room at the call was much older than Topaz. He was bony and compact with skin the colour of weathered stone and tufts of salt and pepper wiry hairs trailing from his ears. He looked somehow meaner too.. To be honest he reminded her just a little of Kreacher.

“Fetch a level two bruise paste, would you” Draco tossed at the creature airily, waving it away with a hand.

When she’d returned from the bathroom, paste having been applied generously to the handprint under her glamour, Draco was waiting by the window, looking idly out over the grounds.

She joined him and was surprised to find that her window looked out over a wonderous garden, wild and lovely, with bright tropical blooms and a winding path trailing through it.   
“Oh!! it’s beautiful!” she hushed, surprised and delighted. She didn’t imagine anywhere at Malfoy manor might look like that. When she’d imagined the place Draco might have grown up, she thought of marble and manicured gardens; chandeliers and chilly rigid order.

The blond wizard next to her gave a wan smile, his arms folded pensively.   
“My grandmother’s garden. She was never quite content in England, I’m told. She preferred some of the other more distant estates – particularly the summer villa in Costa Rica. I had thought you might favour it over the other outlooks. Shall we have breakfast there?”

Hermione smiled her agreement.

 

After only ten or fifteen minutes hike through the marble halls, she found herself sitting down with her possibly former enemy at an antique black wrought iron table, which was laid out with an extravagant breakfast for two. Unfamiliar birdsong rang out from the succulent green ferns and palms overhead and a dark green plant of some kind with large apricot coloured trumpet blooms curled around one side of the table. She could hear the faint babble of a stream or creek somewhere else in the garden. 

Draco was buttering his croissant as she picked at her fresh tropical fruit salad, when he seemed to remember something.   
“Potter owled” he said neutrally. 

She frowned; apprehensive. After the last conversation with him, she had the sinking feeling that Harry might have gone and done something rash when he went to calm Ginny down. She waited for Draco to go on.

“He went down to the prophet and kicked up a stink over the article. Apparently Skeeter hasn’t been fired, but she’s going to have to print a retraction and apology piece.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, relief and irritation competing. “I’m sure whatever she prints will not be a retraction or an apology. He should have just left it alone. She’ll be even worse now.” …’But at least he didn’t get into a fight with Ginny and break off his engagement.’   
She added in her mind. ‘or, Merlin forbid, confess whatever had happened in a fit of Gryffindor moral compunction.’ 

Draco nodded. “That’s essentially what I replied to him. I don’t understand why he didn’t just have her fired. Apparently Moss – That is, the editor of the prophet, Moss Gingrich – gave him some kind of sob story about percentages of readership and putting the paper out of business or some such rubbish, and negotiated for the retraction and a promise that it won’t happen again. And Potter, of course, being such a noble fellow, agreed to hold Moss at his word.”

“The word of a journalist isn’t worth much.” Hermione muttered. “Anything they agree to, they’ll forget as soon as it’s convenient. Generally, at the first sniff of a juicy story.”

The blonde wizard smirked at her. “Had experience with that, have you?… Oh yes… I remember now - The tri-wizard tournament! You were famous for a while... Or infamous. Which is practically the same thing.”

She glared at her salad and stabbed a slice of papaya a little more viciously than necessary. 

“…anyway. I digress.” Draco observed lazily. “I checked the prophet from this morning but there wasn’t any mention. It’ll probably be in the evening edition. If Potter has half a brain – he’ll insist on approving the article before it prints.” He snorted. “Of course we know he doesn’t – so I’m sure that unless I go down to the prophet and take care of it myself there’ll be some new drama to deal with by the morning.”

Her gaze snapped up to meet Draco’s warily. 

She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or concerned. Did he mean he was going to go down and fix things? He’d said ‘unless I’ – that kind of implied that he could go down and fix things, not that he would. Was it some kind of veiled blackmail? Did he want some-

Well of course he wanted something. That uncomfortable conversation last night made that blatantly obvious.

Was he really trying it on already?! 

Draco was, to all intents and purposes, preoccupied with his guava juice. She narrowed her eyes at him. His eyes flicked up to meet her own guilelessly, and he raised an eyebrow in question.  
“Is something wrong?” he inquired, the very picture of innocence.

Hermione deliberated. If she asked him, it would only open the way for a negotiation, however politely and implicitly it might be couched.

“No.. nothing” she said and smiled. “Thank you. I appreciate it. It’s possible Harry might forget. I’m sure he’s a bit busy at home right now.” She returned to her breakfast and ignored the feeling of grey eyes examining her.

“I thought… I might also drop by the ministry and arrange for you to be enrolled to sit your NEWTS at the end of the year too, while I’m at Diagon..” 

She greeted this with another appreciative smile, thanks and a promise to repay any fees he might have to cover. He waved it off.

“I need to go to Harry’s place too at some point.” She blurted then, without thinking, as the thought popped into her head. At the wary, level stare she received, she realised the direction the blonde’s thoughts were probably leaning and backpedalled quickly. “Not immediately, I suppose – but soon. I left all of my things there.”

“It’s not wise to go there now. We can just buy new clo-“ Draco started, but she interrupted him quickly.

“No.. not those things. Personal things. Some of our professors left me a few items in their wills. It’s why I needed to go to Gringotts in the first place. I haven’t had a chance to really examine any of them, or even read the letter from Professor McGonagall. There wasn’t really any time before all of this happened. I don’t think anything I was left is valuable, as such, but they are valuable to me and I’d rather not leave them there.”  
There. That should do it. She’d really prefer not to have to go into great detail about her inheritances. She could see from the new spark in the blonde wizard’s eyes that he was curious already.

“Perhaps I could pick them up for you on my way back from the Ministry.

“I’d really rather be there myself, if possible.” She tried again. In truth she realised she would like nothing better than for Draco to just pick everything up for her – that way she wouldn’t have to see Harry at all. But how could she possibly trust him not to examine everything he was collecting. The thought that he would just respect her privacy was laughable, no matter how polite and obliging he was being for the moment.   
“I set quite a few wards and some of them are difficult to take down without the specific wand that set them. It’d be easier if we went together. It wouldn’t take long.  
A small lie. She hadn’t. She didn’t know any of those wards – but she knew of them. And Draco had no way of knowing which wards she’d cast. It was entirely plausible that she might know of high level wards. She knew of other high level spells and charms.

The curt nod the blond returned broadcasted that he was not best pleased with the idea of taking her to Harry’s but would comply.

 

Clearly, Moss Gingrich, the editor of the Daily Prophet, had not expected that anyone would actually be coming to verify the content of the retraction he intended to print – so he had not had any time to dissimilate or create a plan of defence for it. He had probably expected for it to be too late before anyone did anything. At first, he had refused to see them, and his secretary stated unequivocally that he was in a meeting for the rest of the day. 

Draco had expressed disappointment that Mr Gingrich was too busy to speak with them when he had only yesterday declared the matter in question to be of great importance to him. He had then advised that Harry Potter would be coming down to see Mr Gingrich in person shortly to resolve the issue and they had moved toward the exit. They moved quite slowly, obviously. Having Harry come down and stir around in things was not something that either of them really wanted. It was a calculated gamble. In this case it had paid off. The secretary had leapt up and hurried to poke her head into the editor’s door and there was a muffled conversation, before they were called back with fawning politeness and shown into Moss Gingrich’s seedy little office.

Moss turned out to be a short, rotund, red-faced wizard with jowls, a stubby grey and white goat’s beard and receding shoulder length straight grey hair. Vaguely resembling an aging faun who had wined and revelled a little too often, he was somewhere in those indefinable wizarding years between 50 and 100. Hermione found herself strangely reminded of an elderly Amish Horace Slughorn.

For lack of other available options, and after asking only four times, Draco had been given the retraction article to peruse. He had not passed it to Hermione to read, and he had only seemed to skim it himself, but by the slight draw of his brows, it had been everything they had feared and more.

“Moss… your sense of humour is as sophisticated as ever.” he said with a smile, handing the sheet of paper back. “Unfortunately I haven’t the time to spend today being appalled and infuriated for half an hour until you show me the real article and we laugh over your little joke together. We shall have to save that for another day. Show me the actual draft you plan to print.”

Hermione, seated on a chair primly (in the pastel blue robes that the blonde had insisted she change into before they could leave), was mildly impressed at how effortlessly the Malfoy heir had wrong footed the editor, who now looked like the conversation had suddenly lapsed into Swahili without warning and he didn’t quite know what was going on.

For all his visible confusion, Moss Gingrich had the look of a man who planned to stand his ground stubbornly, come hell or high water.   
“… Mister Mal-…”

“Lord Malfoy.” Draco interjected.

“Right...yes. Lord Malfoy - I am not sure I see what the problem is with the article.”

She relaxed back into her chair slightly as Lord Malfoy launched into a sentence by sentence critique of the article. Draco was more than just good at this. If he were a muggle, she’d have taken him for a lawyer. 

She didn’t know the various acts and sections of wizarding law that liberally peppered Draco’s speech, however she got the general gist of Skeeter’s article from Draco’s rendition. 

It appeared the ‘article’ was an apology of sorts for ‘casting aspersions onto the character of Harry Potter’. However it ‘excused said ‘ridiculous aspersions by further insulting and accusing Hermione Granger of every manner of unseemly act under the sun - on the sole basis of the bigoted views of the reporter, no less’. ‘It was a matter of record that Ms Skeeter had treated this same witch in a similar inexcusable manner when she was only fourteen years old and that Miss Granger had suffered terribly due to Ms Skeeter’s irresponsible and petty slander’. And in paragraph two Skeeter apparently abandoned the notion of retraction and apology altogether and tried to hobble together a justification for ‘her perverted fantasy that Harry Potter and his good friend Hermione Granger might be engaging in coitus in the middle of Gringotts bank lobby – at mid-day – among thirty to forty witches and wizards’. ‘No, sir. This could not be interpreted by any rational being in any other way than as a calculated, vicious and baseless attack on the character of two war heroes, by an exploitative, opportunistic, hack-writer, who would rather fabricate a scandal than cover the more mundane truth that our heroes, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger included, have been through a lot and carry deep scars from their sacrifices’….

Hermione listened with something approaching satisfaction. Moss was sweating in the meantime, sitting rigidly in his seat and his fingers had dropped his quill.

“I know you have more pictures from Ms Skeeters inglorious hunting trip – pictures from the moment that Harry Potter and Hermione Granger entered Gringotts right up until they left to escape your reporter hounding them – What’s more – I have no doubt you have pictures in your possession that make it clear what the true events in the bank were. Have someone retrieve them. All of them. Now! We will go through them and I will select the ones you are going to print – and there will be as many as I see fit, Moss. We are going to make it unmistakeably clear to the wizarding public that Ms Skeeter has misrepresented the truth to them. Her lies will all be conceded and retracted and it will be made evident that Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were entirely blameless – two friends fraught by grief, due to learning of the passing of their mutual friends. And then, Moss, we are together going to draft a new retraction and apology article, because I will not stand for this atrocity going to press!”

The man before them both looked like something Neville might have been brewing in his cauldron. He had turned an unhealthy red-purple shade and it was clear he was about to explode at any moment. If it were not her own future at stake here, Hermione might have wished for popcorn, because it certainly promised to be spectacular when he blew.

“Just who do you think you are, to come in here and tell me how I will run MY paper, Lord Malfoy??!” Moss fumed between gritted teeth. “I know all about you and your family – your dealings with you-know-who. You may think you are a big deal in the wizarding world, but let me tell you “ he sneered “-you are not! Haven’t been for generations now! Your family does not dictate to anyone anymore – much less the free wizarding press!! You should be grateful that I have chosen not to bring the public’s attention to the many unsavoury things that your father and yourself have been doing over the last few years. Your coming in here and defending…her…doesn’t surprise me in the slightest! It does however throw more legitimacy onto the suspicions of my top reporter Rita. If you apologise for this….this… farce – for coming into my office and daring to attempt to order me about like one of your house elves – I may consider continuing to look the other way in my coverage of known death eaters, in deference to Harry Potter’s wishes.

Hermione’s heart stopped.   
She hadn’t considered the prospect that Draco might not be able to help her with this. It hadn’t even occurred to her, even though he had as much as warned her when he said in Harry’s library that he wouldn’t have the political leverage to help her if Harry dragged his own name into the mud and lost traction with the aurors.   
Oh god. What if she’d just put Draco into the same position as she was in? How precarious was his own standing right now?! Had Harry done anything to keep him out of auror custody? He could end up in Azkaban if the wizarding world got stroppy at him – he could even receive the Kiss, depending on what exactly he’d done in Voldemort’s service.

She strained not to show how affected she was but suspected she was not having much success at hiding her fright.

Snatching a glance sidelong at Draco, she was transfixed and, astoundingly, a small measure of her fear receded. 

Draco’s silvery gaze across the desk at Moss could have cut glass.

A long heavy silence stretched as she waited to see what his response would be.

“Who am I to come in here and dictate to you, Moss?” Draco said quietly. So quietly, in fact that if it had been Voldemort, Hermione would have expected blood and screams within the next two minutes.  
“Who am I to tell you how to run your paper?” He raised his eyebrows questioningly. 

“Why I am your employer, of course? Surely you were aware?” He reached into the inside pocket of his midnight blue outer robe and withdrew a slender roll of parchment, bound with a thin red and purple ribbon, from which hung two small official looking red seals. He held it up with a thin smile, seeming to admire it. “The Malfoy family currently owns fifty two percent of the Daily Prophet. Oh…perhaps not openly – but through our concerns, the Dalmayer trust – founded by my great grandmother, the Hodges fund, a project of my mother’s and through the Westenbrook family patronage, which you may not be aware is a very old wizarding line that merged with the Malfoys two centuries ago, due to a lack of surviving heirs – I am in possession of a controlling interest in your paper – which, you’ll agree – makes it, more correctly, MY paper. Now… perhaps we might revisit your earlier threats, before we discuss your future employment within my paper…”

Hermione wanted to look at Moss Gingrich, who was no doubt in the throes of a life changing experience, but she could not quite tear her eyes away from Draco. He looked…older. Silkier. Harder. He looked powerful. It was that elegant effortless power that Voldemort had exuded, and, perhaps – to a much lesser extent – his father Lucius Malfoy also. She was impressed… Not to mention wary. She was theoretically planning on trying to trick Draco in the near future. If it had seemed a daunting prospect when considered in view of Draco Malfoy, ferret and death eater extraordinaire, who nevertheless controlled the all-powerful Malfoy wards – she suspected that this Draco Malfoy was a person who didn’t often miss a trick. 

“This can be contested!” Moss barked, sounding like a man on the verge of hysteria. At that she did look at him. He was on his feet and looked more than merely hot and bothered. He looked baked and sauna’d. “You’re a criminal! If the evidence comes to light you’ll go to Azkaban and then the ownership of the paper will revert to-“

“’Harry Potter.” Draco interrupted, sounding bored. Moss frowned, mouth still gaping as he tried to work his head around this new breaking information.

“If I am for any reason sentenced and unable to enact legal control over my assets, all control of my assets will transfer to Harry Potter. The contract was drawn up several weeks ago. …I have no immediate concerns that I may find myself in such a position however, as the Ministry of Magic issued me with an amnesty from trial ten days ago, due to my heroic service to the Wizarding world during the war. You may be aware of how well they receive information that contradicts their own policies. Particularly in light of the overwhelming evidence that was presented in my favour in this case. While it is…faintly... possible that you may be in a position to threaten me, Moss, I wouldn’t care much for your chances...   
Incidentally, I would note, in passing, that Harry Potter is already in possession of a fifteen percent stake in the Daily Prophet through his Black Lordship. Therefore, in alliance, we control almost seventy percent of this paper. I suspect that you will find it difficult to contest it. The Malfoy family solicitors are very thorough.

Hermione wanted to applaud. She contented herself with a smile that was barely controlled from becoming a grin. Draco was brilliant! God help her if he wasn’t on her side!

It was a much meeker Moss Gingrich that spent the better part of the next half hour negotiating to keep his job, before shuffling off to fetch everything the paper held on Harry Potter, The Malfoy family, Hermione Granger, and the Weasley family.

Astoundingly, Draco did not go through any of the dozens of shrunken boxes of older material that were brought forth. He simply pocketed them all, stating he would assess them later and bring back those he found appropriate. He then went through the folder of photos from Skeeter’s expose, pulled out about ten, arranged them in order so that they displayed a clearly harassed harry and Hermione travelling through Diagon Alley and visiting Gringotts, where they parted and then returned, at which point Harry cried. Skeeter’s photographer had even taken close-ups of Harry’s miserable tear-streaked face. Draco did not select any of the images which showed Mr Groom, her assessor at Gringotts, she noted. And he pocketed the folder too, when he was done selecting the images. 

Most surprisingly, when he was done, he did not sit down to ‘write a retraction and apology article together with Moss’ – he pulled another parchment out of his side pocket and instructed the cowed man in no uncertain terms that he was to print this in its entirety and that they would speak further about the future of Ms Skeeter at the daily prophet, when he had had a chance to go through the material he was taking with him.

And then they left. 

She hadn’t had to say a thing the entire time. Well… Draco had sort of told her not to say anything unless it was absolutely unavoidable – and it turned out to be quite avoidable – but she had expected to find it almost impossible not to speak out in her own defence at least once. She generally had a lot of trouble trusting others to perform a job capably, whether it was to give a correct answer in class, to present the results of a group project, or to speak out in their own defence – so she tended to respond for them automatically. It was surprising to realise that if she’d been given the chance to speak out for herself in this case, she sincerely doubted she’d have done as well as Draco had done on her behalf. She would have appealed to truth and honesty and the reputation of the paper, and a number of other things that probably didn’t mean a lot to Moss Gingrich.

In this case, she had to concede that having the right friends sometimes made all the difference, as much as that line of logic grated against her.

 

They did not visit the Ministry of Magic. Draco said that, in view of the MLE’s current priority on questioning her, it would be better for him to go there without her, and it was a testament to how dramatically her views of the former ferret were shifting, that she thought that he was probably right and had only minimal concern about trusting him to act in her favour. 

So they went to Harry’s next.

Well… they went to a café in a side street from the Prophet and had coffee and cake in a lovely outdoor courtyard in back of the café, while Draco owled Harry to make sure that their arrival would not cause a thermonuclear fuss of unprecedented scale.

The time passed quite pleasantly. It was odd how it kept doing that while Draco was around. He was almost unfailingly polite and engaging when he wasn’t being the horrid offensive spoiled brat she’d come to know and despise throughout school. Hermione wondered, as she savoured the delicate pastry construction of sugar and lychees, whether Draco might have been an entirely personable fellow to the other Slytherins back at Hogwarts. Possibly he was always capable of being charming and it had been known to everyone except for the Gryffindor students.

The soft beating wings overhead stirred her from her thoughts, as a small grey owl with black markings around its wings fluttered down to perch on the unoccupied third chair at their outdoor table. Draco extracted the small rolled scroll and read it, pursing his lips slightly.

“Ginevra will be there” he murmured low enough that she barely caught it. “it’s to be expected, I suppose. Are you certain that you really need these things, or that I can’t get them for you? She will be looking for a reason to go on the warpath. It will be unpleasant if you go in there.”

Hermione sighed.   
“No.. I’m sure it’s going to be horrible, but I have to get them myself.”

Draco gave a slight, grim nod and drew his wand, flicking it impatiently to call for the bill. 

 

 

When the aging elf opened the door to them, they were met, over the small wrinkled head, with the unappealing prospect of a sour-faced Ginny and, half a pace behind, an uncertain and guilty looking Harry.  
Hermione had little difficulty in letting Draco make the greetings for both of them. Ginny submitted to a light European kiss to her cheek and a compliment on her radiance. Harry received a firm handshake and an apology for the short notice.

Hermione just nodded meekly and stood a few paces away, waiting awkwardly for the chance to hurry upstairs and empty out the wardrobe.

Ginny, as soon as the focus was away from her and onto Harry, had resumed her acidic glaring and looking like she was about to burst out with something nasty at any moment.  
Thankfully she was drawn away again by Draco, who expressed polite sympathy and enquired about what she had done to her hand. 

Ginny was wearing a white crepe bandage around her right hand, Hermione noticed for the first time. She had been too caught up in the hate streaming from the other girl to even notice. Now that she was noticing, however, she also noticed that Ginny was dressed fit for a visit from the queen, or a Christmas gala; her hair almost sparkled, while Harry was wearing jeans and one of his old teeshirts. Odd.

It seemed that asking after her health was some kind of opening shot in a battle. 

“My hand – you should really ask Hermione about that, since it was her dark artefact that attacked me! I’m sure she would be the best person to explain why she would have such a disgusting thing in the first place, letalone bring it into a place where children might find it.”

Harry’s face took on a pained expression. Hermione recognised it well from the many….many…times that he’d fought to restrain himself from snapping back at Snape.

Draco raised his eyebrows and looked at her curiously. She shrugged, confused herself.

“You’re actually going to deny it!! I can’t believe you.. That you’d stoop so low-.” 

Hermione gritted her teeth and tried to think calming thoughts. She could see that Harry was doing the same.   
Draco on the other hand appeared to be curious and…entertained?

“We have the proof!” Ginny went on, getting into her element now. “There’s no point in denying it! You brought dark artifacts into our house, when you were invited as a guest. What else have you been lying about, Hermione?! Harry trusted you – and you’d risk his reputation – you’d risk his family’s lives with-” 

Ok. That was just about enough. Ginny had gotten into her things. What if Ginny had found the door?! What if it was missing?! Could she risk asking about it – how would she explain it?! She needed to go and check that everything was there and deal with it as soon as possible if it was missing. There was no time for this rubbish.   
Hermione looked pointedly at Harry but he swallowed and reluctantly looked aside. A glance at Draco told her that he was not intending to intervene at the moment. He was actually looking at her, much in the same way she’d looked at Harry.   
Well then. That was as good as permission, she supposed.

“I have no idea what you are talking about Ginny. Could you possibly manage to be a little more specific?! The only things I have here, apart from the clothing that Harry bought from Madam Malkin, are the things that Professor McGonagall, Professor Lupin and Hagrid left to me in their wills. I don’t think any of them are dark – or at least the assessor at Gringotts said that they weren’t. I never actually had a chance to look at any of them closely. I’ve been a bit distracted since Gringotts, as you might have noticed. To my knowledge there are currently no children in Grimmauld place who are running around wildly, and who are liable to stumble upon something I specifically warded into a hidden wardrobe for safety. They would have to be quite gifted children also, to break the wards that I set, so I would imagine that children who are that clever would know not to touch any unknown magical object without checking it magically first.”

Draco didn’t quite manage to suppress his snicker, and his grey eyes fairly glowed with schadenfreude.

Ginny on the other hand was apoplectic. 

“I WANT HER OUT OF MY HOUSE, HARRY! I DON’T WANT HER HERE!! YOU HEARD HOW SHE SPEAKS TO ME – IF YOU LOVE ME AT ALL, YOU’LL SEND HER AWAY!”

Harry groaned and wiped a hand down his face. He muttered something that Hermione didn’t catch but Ginny obviously did because her jaw dropped in surprise and then she almost steamed in rage.

“Stop it.” Harry said tiredly, cutting her off before she could erupt “Just stop right now Ginny. I love you, but you’re being unreasonable. Hermione came here to pick up whatever the hell you’re so upset about being here, so that she could take it away. Now you want her to leave without taking it with her? Have a cup of tea or something. Calm down. In a few minutes she’ll be gone and you can go back to telling me about whatever it was the benefit next week is supposed to be about.”

Ginny seemed to waver between flipping out entirely and marching off in a strop. After long heavy seconds, the latter won. She stalked off in the direction of the kitchen, ornate dress rustling over the hardwood floor as she departed.

Draco took the opportunity to grin in a manner that shouted clearly “Sweet Merlin, what was that?!! Rather you than I, good fellow!”

This evoked a weary smile.   
“You have no idea…” was Harry’s whispered comment, before he turned and started up the stairs, waving them both to follow.

The stairs were long and creaky as ever. When they arrived, the room was just as dark and pleasant as she had found it before, dappled in midnight blue and sea green.

She moved to the closet impatiently, worried that she would open it and find that everything would be there except that tiny shrunken door.   
It was not unexpected to find her wards down, though it was surprising that Ginny had been capable of breaking them, she thought. 

“Er… Sorry Mione”   
Harry, at her side. Slightly too near again. Reaching out for her arm. She backed off a step. He grimaced and nodded resignedly. “It was my fault. I took down your wards. I was going to bring your things to you after you left– but then Ginny interrupted me and dragged me off and I got distracted. I had to go to the Prophet and make a few other calls. I didn’t think about it. Next thing I knew its hours later and she’s screeching at me about needing to go to Mungo’s and you’d cursed her or something. 

“Well… she got the part about needing to go to Mungo’s right at least.” Draco muttered, “But you must have both lost your bearings. Janus Thickey is on the third floor.”

Harry smirked wryly. “I was tempted.”

Hermione shook her head mildly and turned back to the wardrobe. Well, that answered how Ginny had gotten in. It wasn’t at all reassuring though, because now both Harry and Ginny had gone through her things. She pressed the hidden wardrobe door and caught it as it popped out from the wall.. Dropping to her knees and lighting her wand, she peered into the dark bottom of the wardrobe.   
Disarray. The bags had all been tipped out. There was Professor Lupin’s leather bag of teeth on the right, by the doorjamb. She scooped it up and opened it, peering inside to be sure that it was as expected and then dropping it into the nearest Gringotts bag. There were two books and an envelope on the floor toward the back of the wardrobe. One was splayed on its spine. She rescued that one first, closing it and checking the old tome for damage. The spine was cracked. It was the book on the inner animal from Professor McGonagall. She soothed it with her fingers, wishing she could slap Ginny upside the head without starting world war three. What kind of a person treated books like this?!! It joined the teeth in the Gringotts bag. 

The envelope from Professor McGonagall was still sealed with a thick red wax seal on the back. Possibly, she speculated, it was charmed to only be opened by her. That seemed like something that her professor would do. 

The other book, the diary, when she pulled it out, appeared to be spattered in blood.   
Oh… Oh well that explained it. Mr Groom had advised her not to try to open it. He couldn’t identify the spell. Clearly it was something that damaged the nosy intruder’s hand quite severely.   
She experienced a warm glow of satisfaction. It really, really, served Ginny right. What a pity she didn’t open the book with her face.

Hagrid’s rock was the next find. It was way back in the darkest corner of the wardrobe. She frowned when she picked it up and found it warm under her hand.   
She would definitely need to look into the rock further. Maybe it was an egg of some kind that only appeared to be a rock? Maybe it was something for animal husbandry – like… a rock you put into an animal’s cage for warmth, or something of that nature. Maybe it absorbed ambient magic?! She placed it carefully into the Gringotts bag.

The door wasn’t there…

She ran her hand all over the floor, panic starting to rise. She was going to have to ask Harry. Oh god. What could she say about it?! Maybe that Professor Lupin gave it to her. Mr Groom had said it wasn’t magical. Why would any of her professors have left her it?! 

She was just about to announce that something was missing when her fingers brushed the slight edge of a raised line on the inside wall by the doorjamb. The tiny door was standing on its edge, right in the front left corner of the wardrobe, out of view. She almost didn’t find it at all. It was as if it was hiding. She pulled it away from the wall carefully and slipped it into the bag as surreptitiously as she could manage.

“Ok..” she sighed, getting up from her knees “I have everything. I found out what Ginny was talking about, I think.” 

Draco reached out a hand to help her to her feet. Harry watched this and seemed to be torn. As if he was thinking of objecting or offering her his hand instead. He shook it off after a moment and asked what it was she found.

“A book from Professor McGonagall. I think it might be a diary.”

She received alarmed looks from both boys. “Mione-“ Harry started. Hermione rolled her eyes.   
“Harry – it’s from Professor McGonagall. It’s her diary. She just put a spell on it to prevent people from prying. It’s not like Riddle’s diary at all, so there’s no need to panic.”

He didn’t look convinced. “I need to see it. If you’re right then you can have it right back.”

After a moment, she relented and fished out the diary to hand to Harry.  
“I wouldn’t advise trying to open it” she noted warily. “I’m pretty sure that’s Ginny’s blood. The Gringotts assessor said there was some kind of privacy spell on it and it would activate only if someone tried to open the book.”

Harry had drawn his wand and held the book gingerly in one hand by the spine. She didn’t know what the spells were that he fired off at it, but after a while he appeared to be satisfied. 

“It’s not a horcrux.” He observed superfluously. 

For some reason, the thought of finding Professor McGonagall’s horcrux diary struck Hermione as ridiculously funny, in view of the fact that she’d actually heard the woman being turned inside out by Voldemort in front of her. She couldn’t help but let out a slightly hysterical little laugh. She knew she wasn’t smiling. The overall effect seemed to disturb both wizards in front of her.

“Granger-…” Draco murmured warily. Harry had reached out for her again and she shook her head, grimacing away the little bubbles of irrational laughter.

“I’m…I’m fine. It’s fine. Sorry. Sorry. I can’t help it. Professor McGonagall. Horcrux. I…I don’t know why I’m laughing. It’s not funny.” She realised that she was going to cry about a second before water fogged her vision and raced down her cheeks. 

Someone’s arms were around her then and she was rocked slightly. A hand brushed over her hair comfortingly. 

“Shhh. It’s ok, Granger. Don’t panic. It’ll be over in a second. The same thing happens to me sometimes.” 

Draco then. Draco was holding her and soothing her. She relaxed slightly and let her head rest on his shoulder, probably messing up his robes with her mascara.

“Mione..” Harry’s voice sounded tight and small with emotion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I…” A second hand brushed over her hair. “Draco… do you mind? I...I need to have a word with Hermione alone.”

The arm around her tightened slightly, protectively, and she could feel the rumble of Draco’s voice when he spoke.   
“That wouldn’t be in anyone’s best interests right now. I am certain your blushing bride in the hall will object, for one. …Please understand…I’m not trying to be an ass about it. It would be easier if I didn’t have to keep explaining to you how your actions will impact on Granger’s security. Maybe when your home life is settled, things can return to what they once were. For the moment however – you shouldn’t be alone with her if either of you can possibly avoid it.

There was a long silence in which Hermione wiped her eyes off on the back of her hand and pulled herself together. 

“…yeah.” She heard Harry say sadly behind her. “yeah… I know that. You’re right… but it’s just …hard…to see her upset and not be able to help. Hermione – I’m so sorry!”

She shook her head slightly and picked herself up, pushing slightly at Draco’s chest to get him to release her. Which he did, without hesitation.   
“It’s ok Harry. You couldn’t help with this. It’s just something I need to work through myself.”

She glanced at Draco, to find him staring at her with a look of approval. “We should go” he said quietly.

She nodded.

Harry tried to insist that she take the clothes that he bought for her but Draco refused quite adamantly on her behalf.


	19. Chapter 19

Hermione closed the bedroom door quietly. They had flooed back to Malfoy Manor, for which she was grateful. After the unpleasant little car-crash of a visit to Grimmauld Place, her mood had dropped through the floor, and the prospect of having to traipse silently through London to a suitable apparition point, only to return and have to ‘talk about it’ with Draco, was the mouldy cherry on top of the dropped cake. She had been willing to bet (had she had even a single galleon to bet with) that Draco was going to try again to get her to ‘open up’, or whatever he wanted. Yet, inexplicably, when they arrived, he had only said that he was sure she must be tired and that he hoped to see her later at dinner, before summoning the little elf Topaz for her and withdrawing.

Which left her here, five minutes later, in the complete silence of her (arguably quite lovely) room, feeling a little off-balance.

Sighing she walked to the ornate writing desk and, putting down the Gringotts bag full of assorted mysteries, remembered the final, less portable gift. She needed to tell Gringotts to deliver Professor Snape’s desk to Malfoy Manor, she supposed. What point would there be in storing a desk she didn’t really want in a house she could no longer visit?

She slumped down onto the chair feeling again as if the world had pulled the rug out from under her. How did she get here?! Isolated from everyone she cared about, penniless and (she admitted to herself) still missing the monster who terrorised the entire wizarding world. It was incomprehensible. 

The Gringotts bag on the desk seemed to taunt her balefully, like incomplete homework. Reluctantly, she unpacked the items within onto the desk before her so that she could examine them. Professor McGonagall’s letter, diary and animagus book (pause for a brief wash of guilt and discomfort at the thought of the writhing wet red mass she had turned away from); Remus’ letter and small leather bag of teeth (pause for second wave of guilt and recrimination); one charred little door, suitable for a dollhouse at present; and a heavy grey stone of vaguely rounded shape. The latter clunked as she put it down on what was probably five hundred year old antique wood finish. Grimacing at the thought of dealing with another ‘my extraordinarily precious desk’ flavour of remark in the future, she picked the rock up gently and lowered it down to the rug beside the chair. Yes... It had left a mark. Perhaps Draco would be happy with the gift of Professor Snape’s extraordinarily precious desk in exchange for the damage to this one. That would also solve the problem of what to do with the inconvenient thing.

She heaved another huge sigh, picking up the sealed letter from Professor McGonagall. It felt heavier than it had any business feeling, and she was sure it was just her aversion to being made to feel any worse than she already did that was weighing it down. Finally, she steeled herself and cracked the seal. Within, she was faced with several parchment pages of the large sloping pointy handwriting of her former professor. She had seen it before so often on her essays – usually commending her for another excellent piece of work, and sometimes suggesting further reading that could help her develop one of her points, or which presented an alternate explanation to the one she had given. Out of all of her teachers, she had always most looked forward to getting her homework back from Professor McGonagall.

It read:

 

Miss Granger (this was crossed out twice),

Hermione,

if you are reading this, then I am dead, so there is no good sense in standing on ceremony. Part of me hopes you never come to read this letter, as terrible as that may be. But I find that I do not sleep well lately. I am not as easily reconciled with unpleasant decisions of leadership as Albus presented himself to be. I cannot help but hope that you are somehow, somewhere, alive…but the thought chills me even so, as it would then also mean that I have played my own part in abandoning you to the tender mercies of a creature that is known to be without them. 

I cannot absolve myself of the responsibility. I suspected Albus was concealing something of your circumstances when he revealed that you had been killed by (here the parchment is crossed out many times vehemently). He claimed that your body had been recovered, but I know of no-one who has sighted it. Severus was his usual sullen self and, try as I might, I could not worm, flatter or bully any further information out of him. 

It did not, and still does not, sit right with me. 

I fear Albus may have made the decision to let you go, and to place all of his faith in poor Harry. I…cannot condone this latest sacrifice, if it is indeed what he has done. And now, what am I to do?! He is gone – all of his understanding of this terrible web is lost to me. Severus has not made contact with us in three weeks! His contact was at best fleeting and, if I am honest, rather unhelpful, since Albus passed, but he was always a good boy. Man. Fate has never been particularly kind to him, and I worry for him too now. I am afraid that you may still be there – somewhere. Alive. Suffering. But I have no evidence, nothing to support it. Should I send others to search for you, should I risk more lives being lost to that murderous wretch, solely on the reasoning that I have a feeling in my waters that you might be alive? I have never placed much stock in divination. Trinket peddlers and ball polishers, all of them, and usually drunk as stoats to boot.

But it keeps me awake at night. The thought.

I hope…

I do not know what I hope for. But I must do something! Even something as foolish as writing this letter, on the off chance that my best hopes and worst fears come to pass. I do not know what I can tell you. I am so sincerely sorry. I feel so damned ineffectual! And angry! You do not deserve this! I have always known it to be unacceptable to play favourites, and nevertheless, you, and dear Harry and Ronald also of course, but foremost you, have always been one of my favourite students. More than that – I have, from time to time, found myself looking forward to the day when you had completed your schooling and ventured out into the world. I have looked forward to seeing all of the wonders you would accomplish. Whatever calling you chose to take up, I am certain that you would have made a great and positive impact on the wizarding world. It has simply never been in your nature to tolerate injustice in any form. 

I have thought on what I would wish you to have of me, if I could not be there to give it to you myself. I have decided to give you myself, or what remains of it - my diary. I was gifted this diary by my father on my eleventh birthday. He told me that a wise man (or woman) finds good counsel in reflection on his (or her) own thoughts. While this is true, I have found that it is also important to…cross pollinate, if I might take a leaf from Pomona’s book. I wish I could have brought Albus to understand it. Nonetheless, my diary has been my companion throughout my life, and with it you shall have the chance to know me, should you wish to, even if I myself have forever lost the opportunity to speak with you as one colleague to another, perhaps share a whisky and discuss your latest works, on some far off wonderful day. 

I have recently changed the password to my diary to ensure you alone might access it. If you wish to avoid being bitten quite severely, you need only recall the only essay for which I have ever awarded you an E. Press your wand to the lock and speak the incantation correctly.

‘The inner animal’ is a banned book in the eyes of the current Ministry, so take care to whom you reveal it. It is also the clearest and most valuable text on the animagus transformation process, and was of great benefit to me in my youth, as well as to four former students who took the liberty of helping themselves into the locked drawer in my desk when I was called away from their detention one Tuesday evening.   
Take care to follow the instructions well and do not dwell all too long away from your true self. While your inner animal can be an enlightening and freeing thing, there is more to life than catching mice. Oh and do not pay any attention to the poppycock the Ministry would have you believe – every witch and wizard has an inner animal!

In fond affection and enduring hope,

Minerva McGonagall.

 

Hermione folded the letter up carefully and placed it back in the envelope. Then she placed the envelope into the animagus textbook and, with care and deliberation, cast strong disillusionment and notice-me-not charms on it. And only then did she burst into tears at the injustice of it all. The horrible, horrible death her professor had faced - she could have spared her it! She could have cast the Avada, or any one of half a dozen other painless curses. It would have been entirely possible that Voldemort might not have seen her intent in her mind before she had cast. And as for her fear of the consequences – well the consequences of not doing it hadn’t been anything to write home about. She could have spared her! Maybe. Maybe not – but she didn’t even TRY!!

When the sobs had dwindled down to gaspy breaths and sniffing, she found her blurry teary gaze resting heavily on the last, and most ominous, of her bequests – the tiny charred door. 

It seemed so hideous of her to receive this pure and heartfelt gift from her professor, only to then embark upon what seemed like some form of service to the Dark Lord, if her dream last night was to be believed.

Gingerly she reached for the door, and then thought better of it. She wanted nothing to do with it.

At least, she conceded to herself with dismal realism, she wanted nothing to do with it right now. Perhaps she would think about it some more tomorrow. 

But that still left the question of where to hide it. Obviously, the worst possible outcome would be if someone else found it and knew what to do with it.   
Her eyes slid slowly across to the little leather bag of teeth. 

Now if only there were a way to fit more into that bag…


	20. Chapter 20

The tugging on her sleeve finally roused her. Hermione looked up, feeling the disorientation and irritation that had become commonplace to her lately. The book on the table in front of her swam back into focus. Mulligard’s third volume on forst’s application of arthmantic wheel calculations applied to divination. It was not a book she would normally concern herself with – having divination actually included in the title would be enough to prompt her to continue her browsing elsewhere. But there was also an image depicted on the cover. An image that looked very familiar, even though she had only glimpsed a similar chart once for mere minutes on Voldemort’s desk. The book was far….far…beyond her current understanding, and the act of brute forcing her mind into making sense of it was almost painful. She knew she had a lot of foundation learning to do before she could understand more than a fraction of the material. Shaking her head slightly, to dispel the trancelike concentration she’d been bringing to bear, she turned her head to find the tiny, frightened, form of the elf, Topaz.

“Please missy. I is being sorry! Master is wishing you to be coming to dinner now.” The little elf wrung its hands in the cloth of the small tunic it wore, looking like it was confessing to breaking her great grandmother’s china.

“That’s fine, Topaz. Thank you for letting me know. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

The elf nodded gravely and stepping back a couple of steps, vanished with a muted pop. 

Hermione sighed and looked up at the lovely deep blue glass of the dome above her head. This was her favourite place in the Manor. Since she had arrived here, just over two weeks prior, she had probably spent a good seventy percent of her time in this vast jewel-box of a library. Often she would fall asleep here, if allowed to do so. 

There had been no further conversation about finding her an apartment of her own since she found her way in here on her second day. Draco still wore the subdued smug air of one who had achieved a victory that no one else had yet noticed. She supposed that that was exactly what it was, though. He had obviously been intent on her staying here from the beginning. The talk of finding her somewhere to live had only been to appease Harry and gain her acceptance to leave with him. It was an unjustified smugness though, since her staying had been nothing to do with Draco himself. Her dream about Voldemort had given her a small push to stay in the Manor and the library hammered the last nail in the coffin of her indecision. 

Harry was still upset over it, naturally. Or so she was told. She hadn’t actually seen him since the day she had collected her things from Grimmauld Place two weeks ago, although Draco had mentioned that Harry was becoming increasingly insistent about visiting her. There had been several arguments in the Potter-Weasley household since then. Draco was trying to persuade him to see reason, with limited success. Hermione was sure it was a wasted endeavour. Harry and reason were not usually on the best of terms. No doubt, if things continued in this vein, he’d be banging down the Manor doors to ‘rescue’ her any day now, because he’d got it in his head that Draco was really a death eater and was likely torturing her in the dungeons for being a mudblood.

Heaving another great sigh, she dragged herself up and stretched. She wasn’t wearing appropriate attire – there would be some unneccesarily fancy dress laid out on her bed in her room for her as always, but she wasn’t going to bother trekking the half a kiliometer to get changed right now, purely to appease Draco’s inflated sensibilities. The robe she was wearing was perfectly acceptable dinner wear. He needed to stop being so ridiculous.

When she walked into the dining hall ten minutes later, the slight lowering of blond eyebrows betrayed Draco’s discontentment with her appearance. She ignored it and moved to the far end of the long table, where he sat, as always, at the head of the table. This too was another element of life in Malfoy Manor that she found ridiculous and unnecessary. She was sure there was a perfectly good kitchen table around here somewhere, but they both ate every meal in this grand hall at a table that was far too long for the pair of them. But there was nothing to be done about it. The elves would not be persuaded to bring her food anywhere else or to take her to the kitchens, and try as she might, she could not seem to find her own way there. It was probably a spell, she surmised after the third unsuccessful afternoon-stroll through seemingly endless corridors.

“Was the dress not to your taste?” Draco enquired drily, as her chair pulled itself back for her automatically. She sat down in the place on his left silently. Any answer she could give now would likely be taken as either dismissive or insulting – either way, unnecessarily inflammatory, especially in view of everything she had to concede that he had done for her over the last weeks.

“I take it you were immersed in your studies again, then” he snarked. Again she remained silent since, yet again, she had not been immersed in her studies. That was one downside of her current circumstances, she’d found. When she had all of the wondrous tomes in the Malfoy library available, her NEWTS schoolbooks were just unable to hold her interest the same way they once would have. 

Draco snorted and gave a slightly put-upon smile. “really?” he asked softly. “You know you have all the time in the world to chew your way through the family library – after your NEWTs. Merlin – I feel like my father, saying that. But you really must focus more. While you are dependent on the goodwill of the ministry to let you complete your NEWTs, you expose yourself – expose us both – to an exploitable vulnerability. It is only my money and Potter’s good name that are holding the MLE at bay. And neither will do so indefinitely. We can only consider ourselves lucky that some bright spark hasn’t thought to make your study contingent on cooperation with the Aurors.

“I know. I… I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I just get distracted. There are so many-..” She swallowed, feeling guilty again. 

“Don’t apologise” he waved his hand dismissively. “You are not among Gryffindors. Take action to remedy the situation!”

“I will!” she promised, and really wanted to believe it.

With a sigh, Draco gestured for the elves to fill their glasses. Wine for him and Mineral water for her. She was still avoiding anything with an alcohol content, much to Draco’s distaste. He fixed her with a stern stare. “Don’t make me take measures. I know well what my father would do if I were in your position and gave the appearance of being unable to control myself.

A shiver went up Hermione’s spine. She didn’t like the sound of that. What would Lucius Malfoy do?! She knew any number of horrible things that he had done in Voldemort’s service. She shook her head quickly. “No. There’s no need. I’ll try harder.

She received a dubious expression in reply. “I’m sure you will. In future, you’ll find that the Library will only be open to you after you have completed no less than seven hours concentrated study per day – which is, I’m sure, less than you would have brought to bear, had you been in school last year. You will find your textbooks waiting in the green study down the hall from your room.”

Hermione frowned and opened her mouth to protest. She needed to study in the library. And she was midway through several interesting books at the moment – Case in point being the book she was reading half an hour ago, that might help her understand what Voldemort had been working on at his desk all of those months.

“You will thank me later, when you have your NEWTs and can put all of this behind you” Draco continued, before she could get started.

She deflated.

He was probably right. But that didn’t change the fact that she felt a desperate urge to read.. to learn.. and no matter how she tried to apply herself to her texts, there was just this nagging horrible feeling that she was supposed to be reading something else. It was incredibly distracting.

With a soft pop, an elderly elf appeared at the side of Draco’s chair and, moments later, their meals appeared on the table before them. It was a beautiful dish, as always. Draco smiled at her tightly and sipped his wine.

“Harry will be visiting the manor tomorrow, for tea”

Hermione’s eyes snapped up from the asparagus stalk she had been cutting. “What? why?!”

The blond’s thin smile was gone. “Apparently Harry has worked himself up into the delusion that I am regularly molesting and torturing you in the manor dungeons. If I don’t allow him to visit, he will begin to think about having aurors accompany him.”

She felt her jaw drop. “Seriously?”

Draco snorted. “Oh, he didn’t phrase it quite that bluntly, I summarised to save you a quarter hour of fumbling insistence.”

“Will Ginny be coming?” She wasn’t sure whether Ginny coming would be better or worse. She really didn’t want to see her – it would only end with the pregnant witch spitting insults and hissing at her like a scalded cat - but if she were coming along, it would at least be an ‘official’ visit and Harry would be less likely to want to talk to her alone. 

“I imagine not. I do not believe that Harry has discussed his concerns with her. He’s also been pandering to her quite a bit, if his pained attendance at several ministry functions over the last week is anything to go by.” Draco smirked, although it was a fairly distracted smirk, in her experience. He was clearly worried about the visit.

Reluctantly, Hermione’s thoughts drifted, as so often over the past fortnight, to the matter of the Dark Lord’s ‘test’ – which she was failing. If Harry was coming here, it would probably be her only chance to somehow get her hands on some of his hair before the new moon, which would be in only four days. She had almost reconciled herself to failing, and was once again trying to convince herself that it was just a dream borne of desperation to see the Dark Lord again. An after effect of Stockholm syndrome possibly. 

But it kept nagging at her. 

She hadn’t even really tried to acquire one of Draco’s hairs. Oh… she’d half-heartedly walked around the manor casting summoning charms, but the place was spotless. You could safely eat off the floor in any room within the sprawling palace of a place. Although, obviously, Draco would throw a fit if he saw her eating off any surface whatsoever that was not the table she presently sat at.

She returned to cutting her asparagus. After a couple of beats she registered Draco also returning to his meal. 

“How is he?” 

Draco scoffed softly. “Fine. Unbalanced as ever. Typical Potter, really. He’s going to be difficult.” He took a bite of his salmon

“And Ginny?”

A longer pause. She looked up and found Draco looking at his wine broodingly, leaning back in his chair, meal forgotten.

“She’s not as stupid as I’d have given her credit for” he murmured grudgingly. Hermione blinked. That was a slightly odd way to put it.   
“She’s playing the perfect little wife of the saviour, but she’s watching him like a hawk. And her presentation is impeccable. If I didn’t know better, I’d never guess she was raised in a rat infested shoebox. She is perfectly styled, graceful, quite charming in public. Her social credit is climbing by the day. If Harry fucks up or, more likely, gets it in his head to do something stupid, it’ll be very messy.”

Silver eyes slid up and pierced her. “I can’t understand what’s wrong with him. One accidental fuck that he probably can’t even remember clearly and it’s like he’s lost all sense. He knows why he should let this whole disaster go – just pretend it never happened, and he is still like a dog with a bone. You need to make sure you give him no reason at all to keep sniffing after you tomorrow.” 

She stiffened and glared at him. “I didn’t give him any reason before. I don’t know why he’s acting like this.”

“Well… you need to be colder toward him. Make it clear that you are no longer interested.”

“I’m not interested! I wasn’t interested before either! I don’t know what else I can do to make that clearer!” she huffed. “If I thought painting a big sign saying ‘I’m not interested’ and enchanting it to levitate above my head and follow me around would help, I’d do it!”

The thin pink lips quirked in that particular way she’d come to recognise meant that Draco was genuinely entertained. “that’s not a bad idea actually. Not the sign, obviously, but doing something more obvious to show you were not interested. I used to put Pansy at arms-length, by talking about other girls I fancied, particularly where they were nothing at all like her. It put her into the role of confidant, making her feel special, close to me, which satisfied her ego, but it also emphasised that I did not find her attractive, without insulting her.”

Hermione sighed. Yes. Ok. She could see how that worked. It was a great idea, except for the obvious point that her world was extremely small. She didn’t meet anyone. Her circle of acquaintances consisted of Draco and his house elves these days. She was not a good liar and she couldn’t’ begin to think of any plausible scenario in which she might have met a new love interest. 

“What if we gave him the impression that we had become a couple?“ 

Hearing the half thought come out of her mouth she jolted as if pricked with a pin. She was almost certain she had not intended to say that. She didn’t even know where it had come from. Wide panicked amber eyes darted up and met with silvery ones now glittering with something between delight and approval.

Draco put his knife and fork down quietly. “An interesting idea. I agree -it might be helpful in encouraging Harry to accept reality.”

She had the feeling that she was missing something. The blonde looked far too calm – far too pleased over a suggestion that should have had him retching and insulting her in some way.

But then… he hadn’t been doing much…or really any of that over the last weeks. He’d been unfailingly polite, attentive, generous… 

…Her wardrobe had been full of perfectly tailored robes and other assorted clothing only days after she’d arrived. She frowned, thinking about this more. She hadn’t even overtly acknowledged it to the blonde, but they had to have been quite expensive. 

…He had fixed the article in the prophet, arranged for her to be able to sit her NEWTs, calmly dealt with Harry being stubborn and difficult over the situation between them both. …He complimented her on the dresses he’d insisted she wear to dinner. Even the meals they ate tended to be variations on her favourite meals…

Oh god! What if he was actually interested in more than just helping her out as someone else who had been through hell and back?! 

What was she even thinking. It wasn’t in the Slytherin nature to help someone out unless you wanted something from them in return. He had said he just wanted to talk with someone about the things he’d had to do for Voldemort, but after the night she’d killed Chaldean,he hadn’t tried to pressure her to talk about her time with Voldemort anymore. He hadn’t asked for anything in return. He was apparently just…living with her peacefully. That was an anomaly for a slytherin. 

She swallowed. Her appetite had just left the building.

“May I call you Hermione?”

She almost jumped out of her seat! “What?!” 

The blonde smiled mildly. “If you want to convince Harry, it’d probably be best if I am not referring to you by your last name. He brought it up at some point as something he found odd. I explained at the time that it is necessary for a witch to grant others permission to refer to her informally.

Hermione frowned. Something about that was familiar.   
“You could have used my name whenever you liked. I’ve been calling you Draco for weeks.”

“-that’s your prerogative as a witch. Many rules of social etiquette favour the fairer sex. This being one of the simplest among them. But if I have your permission now…finally...” 

Frown deepening further in worry, she waved dismissively. “sure.. if you like”. 

A shark smile, flashed for only a second. She wasn’t sure she didn’t imagine it.

“I will get you a ring…”

He sounded contemplative, but this whole situation was still ringing alarm bells in her head. 

“It will be more convincing if I have given you a token. I will visit the family vault tomorrow. I am sure there will be something suitable there.”

“A token?! What are you talking about?! Uh…Draco… we..we haven’t decided on anything. It was a stupid idea. I-“

“Hermione.”

She stopped, gaping. It was bizarre hearing her given name in Draco’s voice. It sounded somehow softer and more refined than it did to her.

“Stop flapping. It was an excellent idea and I’m sure it’ll get through to Harry, after he has finished having an irrational fit over it, of course. It is one thing to ruin his own approaching marriage, but to pursue a witch that is not only not interested, but is involved with another wizard?!… We can keep it up until he has said his vows and then, if you wish, we can announce that we’ve decided not to pursue it further. You know that Harry must wed – it is the only reasonable outcome to all of this. This could keep you safe!”

Hermione felt like she couldn’t breathe. This couldn’t be happening. She was not going to pretend to date Draco Malfoy. There was no possible circumstance in which that was a good idea. It was a terrible plan and she needed to make that clear now - She was not going to lie to Harry for his own good, even if it might stop him from doing something stupid. Not…not even to prevent herself from landing in Azkaban.

Although… those two things in contrast. Being not-really-involved with Draco….vs… living in a freezing dark wet stone box, barely clothed, starving, rotting away, tormented by dementors…

"May I touch you, Hermione?”

She thought her head might literally implode. “No!”

This drew a mild reproofing scowl. “Granger- Hermione, have some sense. You know yourself that this is the best way of managing the risk. I’m hardly going to leap upon you and shag you on the table, if you consent. It is a formality, nothing more. One must gain permission to address a witch by her given name… one must ask permission to touch her, before they may take her by the hand.”

“You’ve touched me before!” she spat, wide eyed, not even sure what she was arguing about. This was insane!

Draco frowned, looking down. “Yes.. well, I wasn’t officially wooing you then.”

“Wooing me?! Good god! You do hear how wrong that is, don’t you?!”

Silver eyes slid up slowly to meet her own. “Obviously. I’m sure my father is rotating in his crypt. But…when I do something, I try to do it correctly. If I am going to be seen to be courting you… I will follow all of the protocols. I will court you, as you should be courted by a lord.

Hermione had run out of words. She gaped…her brain was still stuck in a loop of ‘this cannot possibly be happening. Do something!!’. When a pale smooth hand reached out and hovered over her own, she looked at it stupidly, blinking.

“Hermione?” came the soft question again.

“Oh fine then! Yes. Whatever. Knock yourself out!” she bit out after long heavy seconds, glaring at the manicured hand waiting to take her own.

Draco’s hands were cooler than those of the Dark Lord.

And wasn’t that just knowledge she had never in a million years expected (or wanted) to have.

When he held her hand gently in his own, thumb tracing lightly over her knuckles, she found herself faced once again with that subdued, faintly smug, expression, and wanted nothing more than to slap it off his pointy face.

 

\- - - - - - - -

 

Draco had walked her back to her room after they finished dessert. It was beyond awkward and uncomfortable, veering into that zone of near physical pain. He had held her hand on his arm in an old fashioned style of walking that she had seen in old paintings of people in the Victorian era. When they finally…finally reached her door, she had stood like a stunned rabbit while he brought her hand to his lips and placed a light kiss upon the knuckles. 

She virtually fled into the bedroom, closing the door behind her far too quickly to have been polite. 

Five minutes of frantic pacing ensued, while she clenched her hands in her curls and tried not to hyperventilate.

This was not good. So very not good. Terrible in fact. Oh god. And tomorrow Harry would come and she would have to pretend that it was good or he would think Draco really was forcing her into things.   
Was Draco going to do that?! Force her? It…what if he wasn’t just pretending?! After all – Harry was not here tonight. There was no need for him to kiss her hand.   
Oh god. This was so not good!!   
She just knew she was a terrible actress and Harry would instantly detect that she was uncomfortable. This would make everything worse. And if Harry decided it was necessary for him to be a big hero and save her again, then she’d probably end up in Azkaban when all the dust settled.

She threw herself down in the chair by the desk, at a loss as to what she could possibly do to get herself out of this tangle she seemed to be in. As always, the thought of running away flickered through her mind, and again, as always, the boots of reason trampled it to dust. She had no money. None. Her parents – who she was sure were at their wits end again, and had probably alerted the police, hospitals and anyone else who would listen to be on the watch for her – would have her locked away in a psychiatric facility if she went to them. 

Her eyes fell on the small dent on the polished surface of the desk and she frowned at it again. She’d told Draco about it and he’d paused for long seconds before he told her it was of no consequence – he had never much cared for the desk anyway. As if it were ruined now, or something. Further questions revealed that it had been in his family for six generations, and had been a particular favorite of his mother. Of course it had. Naturally. She wondered idly what had happened to the stone. Possibly one of the elves had cleaned it away. A cursory glance around the room didn’t reveal any rocks sitting around on windowsills or in corners. Bending down didn’t locate it under the desk either.

“Topaz” she called softly.

The little elf cracked in immediately, as if she stood perpetually waiting for Hermione to have the merest need of her. Perhaps that was what she did.

“Have you seen a grey stone that I left on the floor here the day after I first came to the Manor?” She pointed at the area beside the chair. 

The small elf’s ears dropped slightly. “Yes Miss. Topaz put the nasty rock in a box for safety. It is being living safe in the second shelf in Miss’s wardrobe. Elves has been giving it meats every day.”

Hermione did a mental double take. She had been ready to dismiss the idea as soon as she heard it was in the wardrobe, but the last comment was more than a bit odd.

“Why have you been giving it meat?!”

The elf’s ears dropped further.  
“Begging your pardon Miss. I’s thinking that Miss’s wanting to keep nasty rock. It can be got rid of if-”

“No.. I mean – yes I want to keep it. But why have you been giving it meat?!!”

The elf wrung its hands. “Sorry Miss!! I’s not mean to. I was not knowing you wanted it not to be getting any feedings!”

Hermione frowned. An odd idea was beginning to dawn on her.   
“Topaz… Is the rock….alive? Does it actually eat the meat?!”

The elf seemed to understand suddenly. “Oh! Yes Miss. Nasty rock is eating blood and elf fingers first, but is also eating beefs and lambses. I’s not seeing it eating meats, but meats is being gone so is eating.”

“oh” she responded softly. Ginny’s blood on professor McGonagall’s diary in the wardrobe at Harry’s house suddenly occurred to her. She had thought at the time that a diary booby trapped with a cutting spell was a bit vicious from her old teacher, but it was the obvious explanation.  
Then the second comment sunk into her brain and she gasped.

“Oh Topaz! I’m so sorry that it hurt you! I didn’t realise it could do that, or I’d never have left it there.”

The little elf beamed at her. “Oh! Miss is so good!! Not needing to worry about elveses. Mippy is growing fingers back in a day with elf magic. Malfoy elves is being good in healing.”

Hermione relaxed again, although the reminder of why the Malfoy elves would be particularly good at healing was disturbing.

“Oh.. that’s… that’s reassuring to know” she responded weakly

The little elf nodded. “Is Miss needing anything else? Topaz can bring hot chocolates for Miss, or-“

No. No chocolate right now. She was sure that with the way her stomach was churning with worry right now, it’d not sit well. She declined the elf politely, and dismissed her. Topaz nodded and popped away with a smile.

Frowning, she wandered into the walk-in wardrobe and looked around for anything that might be a box housing a pet rock. 

A pet rock.

Only Hagrid…

She had never even wondered where the muggle concept of the pet rock had come from. It certainly hadn’t occurred to her that it might have come from the wizarding world. Nobody had mentioned pet rocks in any of her Hogwarts classes. 

She found the box on the bottom shelf in the back right hand side of the wardrobe. The overhead light was bright, but the box itself was in shadow and of matching wood to the polished oak shelves, hence she hadn’t even noticed it there till she was looking for it.

She flopped down on her knees and dragged the box out onto the floor. It was lighter than expected, so she was able to put it down without the loud clatter she’d expected with a box that looked so heavy. 

It had an ornate clasp on the front, that, while it did not lock the box, made it impossible for it to accidentally spring open, should anything within suddenly leap against the lid. She had to withdraw a long brass rod from a series of loops in order to open the box.

Did rocks need air, she wondered. There didn’t seem to be any airholes in the box.

Gingerly, she opened the lid a tiny crack, trying to peer in, in case there was some kind of teeth gnashing creature inside about to leap for her face.   
It was too dark to see in. 

After a moment’s thought, she drew her wand and moved back a metre or so,before flicking the lid open with a spell.

She leaned back and pointed her wand, ready to stupefy…

After a moment, when nothing happened, she lowered it slightly and leaned forward cautiously.

Inside the box there was a grey rounded stone about the size of her two fists.

It sat in the corner of the box, entirely unmoving, just like a grey rounded stone would be wont to do.   
She felt a bit silly, in fact. 

“Um… hello?” she tried.  
The feeling of silliness grew.

“Can you understand me?”

No change in the rock.

Swallowing, she leaned to the side until she could reach the closest shoe in the rack to the left, which happened to be a black leather pump. A minor transfiguration, and it became a hand on a stick. 

She looked at it judiciously and lengthened the stick.

Leaning back again, she slowly poked the faux hand toward the rock, her wand at the ready, just in case.


End file.
